From Hell's Heart
by Laine3112
Summary: Gibbs' unusual behaviour has everyone concerned. When the reason is revealed and almost kills them both, Tony demands answers. Tony & Gibbs. Father/Son  Hurt/Comfort
1. Chapter 1

A/N:- As it's been over eight months since I posted a story of my own, it's time to get back in the game. Unlike all of my other stories, this one is not yet completed but I guarantee it will be. Please bear with me while I get my swing back. This story will contain quotes in _italics_ from the Herman Melville literary classic 'Moby Dick,' Enjoy, L

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.**

**From Hell's Heart**

**Chapter 1**

Tony swung the agency sedan into its assigned parking space, hastily grabbed the file from the passenger seat and launched himself from the vehicle. Loping across the parking lot he greeted the guards who checked him through security then he walked briskly to the elevator and slipped between the closing doors. He looked anxiously at his watch, exhaling loudly as he leaned back against the wall. He'd made good time at the JAG office and would still have a chance to complete his reports and get home in time for his date this evening.

It had been four years since the ill-fated Jeanne relationship; four years since the beautiful doctor left town taking a large part of DiNozzo's heart with her. Ultimately, it had been Tony's decision to stay – he knew the lie that formed the foundation of their relationship was a malignancy that would eventually consume them both. So he cut her loose, giving her the chance to rebuild her life without him and hoping to God that he had the strength to do the same. The healing process had been painfully slow but, finally, the irrepressible DiNozzo survival instinct kicked in and after a few false starts he was ready to dust off his libido and begin dating again.

Of course, whether or not he was on time for tonight's date was totally dependent on the mood of his team leader who had spent the better part of the last week perfecting his Captain Ahab impression.

'_He's a grand, ungodly, god-like man, Captain Ahab; doesn't speak much; but when he does speak, then you may well listen.'_

The words may have been from Herman Melville's classic novel and the image in his mind from John Houston's movie adaptation but it was Gibbs and not Gregory Peck that DiNozzo could see with his mind's eye.

"You really need to see Moby Dick, Boss," Tony muttered aloud before shaking his head to dislodge the image.

It wasn't unusual for the former Marine to loudly voice his frustration over a slow-moving case or lack of viable leads but the team had performed more than capably during their last case and the perpetrator had been charged and was cooling his heels downstairs in the holding cell. Whatever it was that had Gibbs in such a foul-temper, it wasn't work related.

McGee and Ziva had noticed the change, hell; everyone in the whole damn building was avoiding eye contact with the testy lead agent. In the past few days, Tony had lost count of the number of times he'd thrown his body on the Gibbs grenade to shield his team mates from the shrapnel. Even the usually glancing head slaps had been delivered with more impact.

Tony's attempts to approach his boss to ask if he there was a problem were met with icy looks that left him in no doubt that the older man was not ready to talk and DiNozzo should stay the hell away. Fair enough…Tony knew the man well enough to realise Gibbs needed space and he was happy to oblige…up to a point. He'd give him another day or two and he'd approach him again, after hours with a couple of steaks and a bottle of Jack. Past experience had taught him that Gibbs may not open up but at least he'd know the younger man was ready and willing to help whenever he was ready to accept it. In the meantime, there was the matter of his big date tonight.

"Just play it cool, DiNozzo. Get your reports done, stay out of the old man's way and you'll be out of here in time to spend the evening with the exquisite Alexandra," he told himself with more optimism that realism.

Exiting the elevator and rounding the partition into the bullpen, the sight of McGee and Ziva packing up their respective desks brought him up short.

"What's going on?" he asked. "Where's Gibbs?"

"You just missed him," McGee answered. "He left for the night and said we could go."

"He sick?" Tony asked, knowing too well that Gibbs rarely left before his team.

"He did not appear to be unwell," Ziva said, her eyebrows drawn in thought. "He was, however, acting rather…strangely."

"Strange strange or Gibbs strange?" Tony asked casually.

"We're worried about him, Tony," McGee said. "He's been moody, thundering around the office, shouting at everyone. This morning, he yelled at Palmer just for being…well, Palmer."

"So far, nothing you've said is unusual," Tony quipped, trying to ease the worry of his partners despite his own concerns.

"It is more than that," Ziva added. "He seems agitated, angry…I think something is very wrong."

"Don't be ridonkulous," Tony said, "sounds to me like Gibbs is just being Gibbs."

"So, you're really not worried?" McGee asked suspiciously.

"Nope."

"And you do not think that anything is wrong?" Ziva asked

"Come on guys, get a grip! Remember how mad Abby was when she got a candy bar with nougat from the vending machine or Ducky when we swiped Petty Officer Dent's body from the morgue? Everyone has bad moods - Gibbs just has more than most," he said as he dropped a file in Gibbs' in basket and continued. "Probie, what about when you found out that nut-bag had spent money on your credit card or when my Dad stopped my trust account? Not to mention the all the times Ziva's come to work looking like she's been weaned on a pickle."

"Hey!" Ziva objected.

Tony raised his hands in supplication.

"I'm just saying, we all have bad days…Gibbs is just having his turn. Now, I don't know about you but I'd rather take advantage of a rare early night than stand around wondering why we got it."

"I guess you're right. Oh, hey that reminds me," McGee said, rifling through his desk drawer. "Ducky came by looking for you earlier and asked me to give you these tickets for tonight's performance of the National Symphony Orchestra. I didn't know you were a symphony buff, Tony."

"Well, Probalicious, I guess this just goes to show that you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"The symphony? Who is the lucky lady, Tony?" Ziva said. "Anyone we know?

Tony turned away quickly, knocking a file from his desk to the floor. Bending to retrieve it, he uttered an expletive and carefully avoided eye contact with his teammates. He laughed awkwardly and checked his watch again.

"Wow! Is that the time? We really should be going…don't let me hold you up."

Ziva's eyes narrowed at her partner's sudden evasiveness.

"Why have we not heard about this mysterious new woman?" she asked. "Usually you subject us to every sordid detail of your love life without batting an eye. What are you hiding?"

"Jealous Zee-vah?" Tony asked, using her own words against her and smiling inwardly at her indignant expression. "If you must know, I'm not hiding anything. I just don't want to keep the lady waiting, that's all."

"Why? Does she charge by the hour?" Ziva goaded, exchanging a smile with a chuckling McGee.

Tony smiled wanly.

"For your information, Alex is not only beautiful but an extremely classy woman who– "

"Wait a minute!" McGee interjected, causing Tony to grimace at his own slip up. "Did you say Alex? Please don't tell me you mean Alexandra Whitney from Accounting."

The grimace, still frozen on Tony's face, said it all.

"I don't believe you!" McGee exclaimed. "I told you three months ago that I'd like to go out with her! I can't believe you'd cut in on me like that!"

"I didn't cut in on you," Tony defended. "_You_ came to _me_ and asked me to help you meet her! You asked me to be your wingman!"

"Some wingman," McGee muttered.

"Hey, I did the reconnoitring and I got you the intel, it's not my fault you didn't know what to do with it!"

"I spent a hundred dollars a piece on centre ice tickets to the NHL playoffs because you told me Alexandra _loved_ ice hockey with a passion."

"And your point is?"

"My point is…it turns out that Alexandra _loathes_ ice hockey with a passion! She wouldn't go out with me because she doesn't date anyone whose interests are so different from her own!"

"I did not know you liked ice hockey, McGee," Ziva said.

"I _hate _ice hockey! I only bought the tickets because I thought Alexandra loved it!" McGee stressed, looking accusingly at Tony. "I think you did that on purpose."

"Don't get your tighty whiteys in a twist, McPuck, it was a simple mistake – loved, loathed, loved, loathed - could have happened to anyone," Tony justified. "Still got the hockey tickets? I'll take them off your hands for fifty bucks."

"I don't believe this!"

"Okay, seventy-five, but that's my final offer."

McGee offered no reply and continued to stare at his senior field agent in disbelief.

"Okay, McGoo, listen up…I was going to talk to you about this but it never seemed the right time. You hadn't mentioned Alex in months and I thought you'd realised she was out of your league and moved on. So when she asked if I'd like to go out sometime..."

"Wait! _She_ asked _you?_"

"Three times, actually, but out of respect for our friendship, I turned her down twice. Then when I thought you weren't interested anymore, I thought, what the hell? All's fair in love and war, right, Probie?"

"DiNozzo!" Vance's voice sounded unexpectedly from the landing on the mezzanine level.

"Director?" Tony answered briskly.

"My office, now," he ordered and started back toward his office.

Tony cursed softly and glanced quickly at his watch. Almost as an afterthought, the director turned back.

"You have any plans for tonight?" he asked.

Tony sighed in relief at the possibility of a reprieve. He held the tickets for Vance to see.

"Yes, Sir, as a matter of fact, I do."

"Cancel them," Vance said. "You have agency business tonight. Be in my office in two minutes."

Tony watched the director's retreating back and carded his fingers through his hair in exasperation. He was still holding the tickets aloft when they were plucked from his fingers by McGee.

"Don't worry, Tony," McGee said, unable to hide his smile. "I'll explain everything to Alexandra. You can trust me to be your wingman…all's fair in love and war, right?"

He tried to ignore the soft laughter from his teammates while he headed for the director's office, looking more like a man walking to the gallows.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

The following morning, McGee and Ziva passed through security and stepped into the elevator, McGee's voice exuding his newfound appreciation of the National Symphony Orchestra and a wonderful evening spent in the company of Alexandra Whitney.

"I am pleased that you had such a lovely night, McGee," Ziva said. "It is about time you found a nice woman who appreciates you."

Blushing slightly, McGee shrugged a shoulder to adjust the weight of his backpack and then cleared his throat nervously.

"To tell you the truth, Ziva, I feel kinda bad about Tony. I mean, I got to spend a great evening with Alexandra, listening to the symphony with _his_ tickets. Meanwhile, for all we know, Director Vance could have sent Tony on some dangerous, life or death assignment."

The elevator deposited them in the operations room and their conversation was aborted mid-sentence when they caught sight of their senior field agent. Dishevelled and unshaven Tony was looking more squeamish than his teammates had ever seen him. The ingredients of the DiNozzo Defibrillator were spread out before him on his desk.

"Oh my," Ziva uttered. "I am having a strong feeling of déjà vu. I had not heard that our Tokyo counterparts had returned for some more…saki bombs?"

Wincing as her voice pieced his thundering headache, he raised a slightly trembling finger to his lips and closed his eyes, breathing heavily to ward off the rising nausea. He reached for a business card and extended it in McGee's general direction.

"McGee…read words," he rasped, barely recognising his own voice.

"Theo Papadopolous, Liaison Agent, NCIS resident unit Souda Bay Crete." McGee raised his eyebrows. "The Greeks are in town?"

Tony nodded sullenly sending a spike of pain shooting through his right eye.

"And Director Vance asked you to show them a good time," Ziva said, wrinkling her nose as she watched Tony chug down his unusual concoction. "Then this is not a saki hangover this is-"

"Ouzo boat races," Tony replied hoarsely.

"Gibbs may be the NCIS poster boy but the director has you pegged as the NCIS party boy," McGee said, his blue eyes opening wide when he noticed Tony's crumpled and besmirched apparel. "You're still wearing yesterday's suit! You were out all night?"

"They wouldn't leave the club, McGoo! Vance gave me specific orders to make sure they had a good time and get them to the airport for their flight home!" Tony said, his bloodshot eyes desperately pleading his case. "They ate, drank and danced until zero five hundred. When I dropped them at the airport departure gate, they were trying to Zorba their way onto the plane."

"You better get cleaned up," McGee warned. "When we were downstairs, we saw Gibbs going to the coffee shop. If he sees you like this, you're a dead man."

"Or worse," Ziva added.

"There's worse than dead?" Tony asked.

"There is with Gibbs," McGee and Ziva said in unison.

"That's true," Tony grimaced. "Think I have time to hit the showers?"

"You will need to move fast." Ziva said. "We will cover for you but Gibbs will be back at any moment."

She and McGee dropped their packs and started to remove the incriminating remains of the trusted hangover cure from Tony's desk. The soft chime of the elevator sounded and Ziva turned her head as the lead agent stepped from the car with the ubiquitous cup of steaming coffee held in one hand. He paused in front of the elevator to speak with Agent Foley.

"It is too late," Ziva hissed. "Gibbs is here!"

"I'm dead." Tony moaned.

"Maybe you'll get lucky," McGee whispered. "Maybe he'll be in a good mood today."

"You think?" Tony asked hopefully.

"Nah," McGee said with a shake of his head. "You're dead."

The silver-haired team leader entered the bullpen, as Ziva and McGee stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Tony's desk, effectively blocking the senior field agent from view.

"Morning, Boss!"

"Good morning, Gibbs," the younger agents greeted simultaneously.

Immediately sensing the unusual tension in the air, Gibbs stopped, directly in front of his two junior agents and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He watched as McGee averted his gaze to the skylight and attempted to whistle nonchalantly while Ziva studied her shoes.

"Something wrong?" Gibbs asked.

"No, no, nothing is wrong," Ziva said without making eye contact. "It is a lovely morning, what could possibly be wrong, right McGee?"

"Yes! That is…er…yes, Ziva, that's right…it is a…ah…lovely morning."

Gibbs jerked his head, motioning for them to move aside. They chanced a final sympathetic glance and separated to reveal their dishevelled and still queasy partner.

"Mornin', Boss," Tony managed with a smile that looked more like a grimace.

The older man's expression was implacable but his eyes were shooting daggers at his senior agent.

"I know what this looks like, Boss, but it's not what you're thinking," Tony said.

"You get any sleep last night?" Gibbs asked abruptly.

"Ah…no but I-"

"Is that the suit you had on yesterday?"

"Yes, but that's-"

"Have you been drinking?"

"Well…yes but-"

"Then it's _exactly_ what I'm thinking," Gibbs snapped in a dangerous tone. "How the _hell _did you get hung over on a Friday morning?"

"Drinking on a Thursday night," Tony offered weakly.

"Boss, this wasn't Tony's fault," McGee said. "Director Vance asked him to entertain the liaison agents from our regional unit in Souda Bay. Apparently those guys party pretty hard."

Gibbs' eyes flicked from McGee back to Tony who squirmed slightly under the intensity.

"What he said," Tony croaked, pointing a shaking finger at McGee.

"On your feet, DiNozzo!" Gibbs said menacingly.

"Wha…what?"

Gibbs exhaled a long breath to calm himself. It didn't work.

"I should kick your inebriated ass right here…but I'm not gonna do that."

"That's very tolerant of you, Boss and I appreciate that more than you could-"

"I said on your feet!" Gibbs snapped.

Tony shot out of his chair like he was fired from a canon, quickly grasping the nearby filing cabinet until the world stopped spinning.

"Where…where we going?" he asked, swallowing the rising bile.

"Director's office. Since you were operating under his instructions, he can watch me kick your inebriated ass."

"Well…that's a little less tolerant, than I was hoping for."

"DiNozzo!"

"On your six, Boss," Tony responded, setting action to words as he fell into line on his lead agent's heels

Ziva and McGee watched the retreating backs of the two senior agents for a moment before walking to their desks to start their day.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00ooo—0**

As luck would have it, the director had been called to a meeting with SecNav at the Pentagon and it was with great relief that Tony was spared the threatened ass kicking. His relief was short-lived when Gibbs ordered him to Autopsy to "present arms" while Ducky extracted a blood sample and Abby ran a test to determine his blood alcohol levels.

Tony knew with certainty that the alcohol levels would barely register despite the sizable hangover - he was more of a beer and pretzels man and hadn't consumed a lot of Ouzo. It was a combination of the strong anise-flavoured spirit; the spicy, rich Grecian food and a sleepless night that left his head and his stomach feeling worse for wear. He was just as sure that Gibbs would expect likewise had he not been in such a snit.

The look of reproach in Gibbs' eyes and a swift clip to the back of the head that silently shouted 'smarten up,' only managed to restart the jackhammer in Tony's brain.

'_Oh yeah, Captain Ahab was in the building.'_

Tony was more than relieved when he was banished to the showers, grateful for a few moments out of the older man's admonitory gaze.

Thirty minutes later, showered, shaved and dressed casually in jeans and a dark sweater, Tony walked back into the bullpen. After scanning the operations room and noting Gibbs' absence, he dropped heavily into his chair, groaning miserably he folded his arms on his desk as a pillow for his aching head.

"Looks like the DiNozzo Defibrillator is no match for Ouzo," McGee said casting a semi sympathetic look at his senior field agent.

"Six generations of DiNozzos are spinning in their graves," Tony replied, his voice muffled by his arms.

"By the look of you, it may soon be seven generations of DiNozzos spinning in their graves," Ziva added, studying her partner's pallor and the lavender smudges of fatigue under both eyes.

"On the bright side," McGee continued, "You'll be pleased to know that Ducky dropped your blood alcohol results on Gibbs' desk ten minutes ago and you're officially in the clear."

"Never had a doubt, Probie. From twenty-two hundred onward I only drank soda," Tony said, wincing as his stomach protested loudly.

"It is a scientific fact that younger bodies metabolise alcohol much faster and with less unpleasant after effects than older ones. Perhaps this is your body's way of telling you that you are not as young as you once were and you need to start taking better care of yourself?" Ziva teased.

"Before you pension me off, Ziva, maybe you can tell me where Gibbs is."

"We do not know," she replied. "He left the building about twenty minutes ago."

"Where'd he go?"

"He did not feel the need to inform us and we did not ask," she replied, returning her attention to her computer.

"He's been doing that a lot lately," McGee added. "Leaving without saying where he's going. I think something's wrong."

"Lighten up Probie. The man's entitled to some personal time every now and then. It's not like we're in the middle of a case."

"We were in the middle of a case yesterday when he left you to interrogate Gunnery Sergeant Hughes. He was gone for five hours and no one knew where he was - and then he left early!" McGee said, obviously concerned by Gibbs' unusual behaviour.

"It's not like it's the first time he's let me interrogate a suspect, McGoo."

Hoping to change the subject, he sauntered across to perch himself on McGee's desk.

"So…how was last night?" Tony asked.

"Last night was great, thanks for asking," the younger man said before turning back to his computer.

"So…Alex wasn't too disappointed then?"

"Disappointed?"

"Well, you know, she was expecting a date with Chuck Norris and she opened her door to Chuck E Cheese."

"Nice try, Tony," McGee grinned, "but Alexandra told me that you called her to apologise and that you said some very nice things about me."

"I had a weak moment," Tony shrugged. "I meant what I said though, man. I would never have agreed to go out with her if I'd known you were still interested. DiNozzos don't go out with married women and don't cut in on their friends."

"I know, Tony," McGee replied, "and I'll pay you for the symphony tickets."

"Hockey tickets," Tony answered quickly.

"What?"

"You could give me your hockey tickets."

"I paid a hundred dollars each for those tickets!"

"Come on, McScrooge, those were my box seats you sat your skinny ass on last night – do you have any idea how much they cost? Besides, you said yourself, you hate ice hockey!"

McGee pursed his lips, imaging the extravagant cost of box seat tickets at the Kennedy Centre and he realised that he was getting off easy. He opened his wallet and handed Tony the tickets, frowning when the older man remained seated on the edge of his desk.

"Something else I can do for you, Tony?"

"Details, Probie, I want details!"

McGee hesitated for a moment then grinned at the memory of the best date he'd had in a long time.

"Well, I managed to get reservations at La Chaumière in Georgetown…"

"Very stylish, - and?"

"And…we had a nice meal and great conversation."

"Then what?"

"Then we drove to the Kennedy Centre and enjoyed the champagne and hors d'œuvres at interval and the symphony was amazing."

"And then what happened?"

"Then I drove her home."

"What? No nightcap or coffee or…you know?" he said raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Alexandra invited me in for coffee but it was getting late and we both had work this morning so…"

"Wait a minute, let me get this right. You turned down an invitation into the apartment of a smoking hot woman because it was a school night? Are you crazy?"

Tony felt the glancing blow of a head slap as Gibbs made his presence known.

"Sounds like someone who values their job to me," Gibbs said curtly. "What about you, DiNozzo? You value yours 'cause at the moment it's hard to tell."

"Boss?"

"Where's the transcript of Gunnery Sergeant Hughes' interrogation? I told you to get it to me yesterday." Gibbs said as he stepped into Tony's personal space. "If doing your damn job is getting in the way of your drinking and socialising, DiNozzo, there are ways to fix that."

Tony flushed slightly from the unexpected heat of the comment and feeling the eyes of his teammates burning into his back. The muscle in his jaw clenched and tightened as he straightened to his full height without breaking eye contact.

"Can I say something now?" Tony's voice was hard, the words brittle with suppressed emotion.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow in silent response.

"Signed transcript's been in your in basket since yesterday – I put it there when I got back from the JAG office - you'd already left. It's under the requisition forms, witness statements and my firearms discharge report that are all waiting for your sign off. I was in early this morning, figured I'd get a head start."

Gibbs nodded his head tersely and without another word Tony returned to his desk, his entire body taut with the effort of containing his anger.

Dropping into his seat, Gibbs carded his fingers through short silver strands and sighed deeply. He knew that the situation was not entirely Tony's fault and he was determined to suggest that the director find someone else to entertain the agency's out-of-town visitors.

Tony had a keen investigative mind and Gibbs needed him sharp and at the top of his game, not clouded by alcohol and lack of rest…especially now, when he had matters pressing on his own mind.

The next few hours passed under the shroud of a heavy silence as the agents completed their reports and started to work on some cold cases. McGee and Ziva kept their heads down, sensing the palpable current of antagonism between the senior agents.

Returning from another coffee run later in the day, Gibbs placed a cup of overly sweet hazelnut coffee on Tony's desk. As his senior field agent raised his eyes to meet his, Gibbs hoped Tony could read an apology in the gesture. Tony's confusion warred with his concern as he watched his boss' retreating back and a familiar feeling wrapped its icy fingers around his heart and squeezed tightly.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

_'Look sharp, all of ye! There are whales here-abouts! If ye see a white one, split your lungs for him!'_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N:- I hope you enjoyed that, L**


	2. Chapter 2

**From Hell's Heart**

**Chapter 2**

…'_For in his eyes I read some lurid woe would shrivel me up, had I it'…_

The span of uneasy silence in the bullpen was agonising. Tony had surreptitiously glanced at his team leader several times trying to gauge his mood, only to find Gibbs staring off into space with a rarely seen, expression on his face. He felt his own anxiety building as he wondered what had Gibbs so distracted.

The shrill of the former Marine's desk phone startled him from his fugue and he answered brusquely. After a brief moment, he returned the receiver to its cradle and rose to his feet.

"I'll be with the director," he said, shooting a fiery glance at Tony before heading for a showdown with Vance.

Tony winced at the thought of the two men going toe to toe over his extra-curricular activity with the Greeks the night before. He rubbed at his temples and realised that the vice had marginally eased its painful grip on his brain but his stomach still protested loudly at regular intervals. He looked up to see Ziva standing over him looking concerned.

"Something I can do for you, Ziva?" he asked.

"No," she answered quickly enough to indicate that she clearly had something on her mind.

"Then would you mind hovering somewhere else?"

"I do not hover!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Abby hovers, I…scrutinise and you look dreadful, Tony."

"Paging Doctor David…you're needed for a consultation in trauma room two, stat!"

"Well, you do! You are pale and you have got these dark circles under your eyes. You are a Phys Ed major, yes? You of all people should know the importance of taking care of your body."

"Since when have you been so interested in my body? Don't answer that!" Tony said, realising he had just left his ego exposed and open to attack.

"You are my partner and you are feeling poorly. I am simply expressing my… professional concern for your welfare, nothing more."

"Okay, let's not lose perspective here! Firstly, it's just a hangover and lack of sleep. Secondly, I run three miles every morning…"

"You need to run five," she interjected.

He ignored her and continued.

"I do a strenuous workout at the gym three times a week…"

"You should go every day…"

"_And," _he said, impaling her with an indignant glare. "I play ball at the Y; that exceeds the NCIS minimum physical training requirement. I have _never_ had any problem passing the annual standardised fitness tests and lastly…why are you being so nice, you're scaring the crap outta me?"

"I told you…you are not in college anymore. The older you get the longer your body takes to rid itself of toxins. If you intend to continue abusing your body then you really should increase your fitness regime and go to the gym every day."

She placed a cup of steaming hot beverage in front of him.

"Drink this," she directed.

Tony eyed the cup suspiciously. "First Gibbs, now you? Am I dying?"

"As your famous DiNozzo Defibrillator does not appear to have worked, I thought you should try my family's hangover remedy of jasmine tea and lime."

"I think I'd rather suffer," Tony muttered.

"I can arrange that, too!" she replied ominously as she returned to her desk.

McGee glanced up from his computer.

"So, Tony…you sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Et tu, McBrute? Why's everybody being so nice?" His jaw dropped open as a thought occurred. "The blood tests! Give it to me straight, I really _am_ dying, right?"

"I was talking about what happened this morning with Gibbs," McGee answered. "He was pretty harsh, even for Gibbs. You still think nothing's bothering him?"

Tony took a sip of the tea, surprised that it wasn't as ghastly as he expected, then he walked over to McGee's desk and perched himself on the corner.

"Probalicious, the day I _don't_ get head slapped or growled at by Gibbs, is the day I start to think something's wrong, capiche? Speaking of head slaps…"

Tony looked furtively around the operations room like a spy in a bad movie then spoke in a hushed tone.

"Okay, listen up. I think we need a codeword."

"A codeword? For what?"

"What's the matter with you?" he scowled. "For all those times when we're talking and Gibbs suddenly appears behind me and slaps me across the head!"

"I kinda like those times," McGee said, biting back a grin.

"That's because you're not the one getting your brain scrambled," Tony replied. "So, what do you think? Any suggestions?"

"Ah…Tony."

"You got a dictionary for a brain, McGemcity and _that's_ the best codeword you can come up with? How will I know if you're warning me or just calling my name? No, it has to be something more unique…something that leaves no doubt that the old man and his winning personality is on his way back to the bullpen."

"Tony."

The senior field agent rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation.

"Work with me here, Probie, I already told you why we can't use my name. It's not a clear enough signal."

"What about duck?" McGee suggested.

"Okay…I can see that you're just not getting this, Genius Boy…if you say duck, how will I know that you're not just talking about our esteemed medical examiner? The signal needs to be clear."

Tony's head was forced forward from the impact of a firm head slap as Gibbs strode by and opened the drawer of his desk.

"Clear enough?" Gibbs asked. "Gear up, we gotta dead Marine."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

In a show of solidarity, the younger agents didn't even contest the "shotgun" position as they travelled to the crime scene at Quantico Marine Base. Though grateful for the extra leg space, Tony was convinced that the gesture was more likely an attempt by his teammates to stay out of Gibbs' line of fire.

The team leader's driving seemed more erratic than usual as the familiar landscape sped past Tony's window in a sickening blur. If he were a gambling man, he'd bet his trust account that this was some kind of Gibbs payback for the hangover. He screwed his eyes closed and concentrated on his breathing.

"You puke and you'll be riding a desk for a month," Gibbs threatened.

His voice was glacial and his lips hardened to a single line as he looked across at the younger man and then pressed the button to lower the passenger side window by a few inches. The comfortable conversation and banter that often lightened their journeys to and from crime scenes was conspicuously missing as the team drove the rest of the way in a tension-filled silence.

Gibbs' threatening words and Tony's self-preservation had ensured that they arrived at Quantico without incurring any messy mishaps. The younger man hadn't lasted ten years on Gibbs' team without developing survival skills. Checking in with the guards on the gate they were directed to the base commander's office and parked the sedan in the nearby parking area.

"Stay with the vehicle," Gibbs ordered tersely, already out of the car and walking toward the administration building.

Tony shrugged at his teammates as they all walked back to the sedan and leaned against the hood.

"You waiting for a damn invitation, DiNozzo?" Gibbs snapped.

"No, Boss," Tony replied quickly, jogging to catch up.

Ziva and McGee exchanged an exasperated glance, not pleased about having to wait with the car but not about to challenge the decision.

"What do you think?" McGee said.

"I think something is definitely bothering Gibbs and I think Tony is trying to cover for him," Ziva replied.

"You think Tony knows what's going on?"

"It is hard to tell. He may act unconcerned but I believe he is worried."

"He's certainly borne the brunt of Gibbs' mood this week," McGee stated. "I think they've set a new head slapping record."

"Whatever the problem may be, I hope it is resolved quickly, for everyone's sake. After all, we cannot be expected to do our jobs when we are treated as children and told to stay in the car. Do you agree, McGee?"

"You're right, Ziva, we are definitely not children. Hey!" McGee brightened. "Wanna go halvsies in a Nutter Butter?"

Knowing for certain that adults liked Nutter Butters, too, McGee reached into his pocket and quickly removed the wrapping from the small package. With the tip of his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth, he concentrated on breaking the biscuit fairly and grimaced as the snack broke into two uneven pieces.

"Thank you, McGee," Ziva smiled, as she took the much larger portion and popped it into her mouth.

"Mmm, thith ith delithouth! Ith there anymore?" she said, struggling against the peanut butter that had taken up residence on the roof of her mouth.

McGee frowned in irritation and quickly placed the tiny leftover piece into his mouth.

"Thorry," he said. "Thath all there ith."

He placed his hands in the pockets of his jacket, guilty fingers stroking the wrapping of his last remaining snack. Avoiding her gaze he nervously whistled the _"__have another__Nutter Butter peanut butter sandwich cookie"_ jingle and he reconciled himself to the fact that some things were too good to share – even with your partner.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Gibbs and Tony returned to the sedan and the senior field agent handed McGee a small piece of note paper.

"What's this?" McGee asked.

"Co-ordinates of our crime scene, Probie," Tony answered, washing down another two Tylenol with a mouthful of water. "Quantico covers 100 square miles, we're going off the beaten track and we're gonna need your GPS."

"Did the commander give you any details of how this Marine died?" Ziva asked.

Tony looked to Gibbs, waiting for the lead agent to brief the rest of his team. He frowned when it became apparent that Gibbs had no intention of replying and he sighed audibly before answering Ziva's question himself.

"Single car MVA. Looks like Marine versus rockslide - no prizes for guessing who won. The deceased is Lance Corporal John Nicholas Livingstone, aged 24, unmarried, from Bristol, Rhode Island," Tony continued.

"Er…Boss?" McGee said from the back. "You'll need to take the next left and follow it for fifteen point four miles. It's unpaved road, actually, more like a goat path that winds around the mountain but it will take us directly to the accident site."

"Should we wait for Ducky and Palmer?" Ziva asked.

"They're about five minutes behind us," Tony grimaced as his shoulder impacted painfully on the door as Gibbs manoeuvred the speeding car around a steep bend. "Marines are standing by at the gate to escort them to the scene of the accident."

"Livingstone was part of a 30 man Marine boxing team that's training for the Armed Forces Championships being held in a week," Tony explained. "The Corps set up a training facility at one of their remote satellite camps so they would be virtually undisturbed."

The agents fell silent once again until they were flagged down by a couple of Marines standing in front of a road barricade. The road ahead bore the aftermath of a recent landslide. Large rocks; mounds of clay-rich soil and debris had gouged a large scar upon the mountainside before being dumped haphazardly onto the road.

Gibbs flashed his ID and was allowed entry to the sealed off area. Grabbing their gear from the trunk of the sedan the younger agents joined him at the shoulder of the road. McGee's description of a goat path was a little exaggerated but the road was definitely unpaved. It wound tightly through the small mountain range with the land dropping away sharply beyond the metal guardrail.

In a wide gully thirty yards below, they saw the twisted remains of the vehicle that had remarkably come to a halt right side up. Its roof and sides had been crushed inwards, presumably from rolling several times and the tiny crystal remnants of the windshield and side windows left a glittering trail that belied the death and destruction below.

The bloodied and badly mutilated head and shoulders of Lance Corporal John Livingtone could be seen through the remains of the windshield.

"What a senseless and tragic end," Tony sighed with rare emotion.

McGee looked at the senior field agent with mild surprise.

"You know, Tony, for someone who has spent almost half his life in law enforcement, it's kinda nice to know that you can still feel emotional about the loss of a young life."

"I was talking about the car, McGee!" Tony replied. "Check it out – a Jaguar XJ-13. It was a model developed by Jaguar to challenge at Le Mans in the mid-1960s."

"She was a real beauty, wasn't she?" A voice reached out from behind them and the agents turned to see a Marine approaching.

"Master Sergeant Nathan Dunn, Sirs, and Ma'am," he added nodding to Ziva. "I was ordered by the commander to secure the scene and wait for your arrival."

"You know the deceased, Master Sergeant?" Gibbs asked.

"No, Sir. That is…I've seen him around but these guys travel in different circles."

"These guys?"

"The Marine boxing team. The brass is so keen to regain the Armed Forces title that these guys have been treated like movie stars."

"Gonna kick All-Army's ass this year, Sarge?" Gibbs asked.

"Oo-rah!" the sergeant barked.

"S'what I thought," the team leader replied. "You first on scene?"

"No, Sir. That would be Chief Warrant Officer Mills. He saw the road was blocked and the broken guardrail and then he noticed the wreck. That's him by the far barricade."

"Ziva?"

"Got it," she replied, stepping carefully over the debris as she headed over to speak with the witness.

"We need to get to the satellite camp," Gibbs said. "Question everyone who had contact with Livingstone in the last 48 hours."

"No one's there, Sir," the sergeant replied. "The whole team got a three day pass starting this afternoon. According to the head count from the main gate, the whole boxing team, other than CWO Mills and Livingstone is long gone."

"Hate to disagree with you, Sarge, but from where I'm standing Lance Corporal Livingstone is about as long gone as they get," Tony said, grimacing at the bloodied corpse down below.

"We'll need contact details," Gibbs said. "Anyone involved with the boxing team will need to make themselves available until the investigation is completed."

"You sure that's necessary, Sir?" the sergeant asked. "Looks to me like Livingstone's death was an unfortunate accident."

"Until we determine that this was just an MVA, we treat all deaths as suspicious," McGee replied.

The sergeant nodded his understanding. "I'll pass that on to the CO, Sir, he'll get someone to arrange for copies of the service records of all team members and trainers, plus personnel records of any civilian support staff. You can pick up the files from Admin when you're finished here."

A loud noise and a warning shout sounded from behind the group as several large rocks and more debris tumbled from higher up the mountain and fell harmlessly several yards to their left.

"You're gonna need to watch yourselves down there," the sergeant warned. "All that rain the last few weeks has made this whole area pretty unstable."

"Why weren't these guys in Marine issue transports? The Corps supplying Jaguar XJ-13's to its personnel now, Master Sergeant?" Tony asked still surveying the twisted wreck of the classic car.

"I wish, Sir," the Marine answered with a rueful grin. "Scuttlebutt is that the top brass ordered the CO to afford these guys every comfort in their preparation. CO didn't want to waste resources ferrying them around 24/7 so he assigned them one truck and allowed them to come and go in their own vehicles."

They glanced back to the road as the NCIS coroner's van arrived.

"Looks like Ducky and Palmer made it," McGee stated.

"DiNozzo – get down there and photograph the body," Gibbs ordered. "McGee, give Ducky and Palmer a hand with their equipment."

Tony glanced down the escarpment to the mutilated and bloodied body and turned his head away as his hangover made its presence known.

"Am I being punished?" he asked, taking deep breaths to quell the nausea.

"Now, DiNozzo!" Gibbs answered impatiently.

"I'm just asking…'cause this feels kinda like punishment."

Gibbs pulled a camera from a backpack and threw it firmly in Tony's direction. The younger man juggled the expensive piece of equipment three times before securing it against his chest.

"Get to work."

"Is this a good time to remind you that I was acting under the director's orders last night?"

Gibbs impaled his agent with an icy glare.

"Nope…didn't think so," Tony muttered.

"Maybe the next time you schmooze the visitors, you'll show a little restraint," Gibbs replied.

"What if _I _help Ducky and Palmer with their gear while McGee photographs the hideously bloodied corpse?"

"You were the one admiring the Jaguar XYZ, go admire it up close!" Gibbs growled.

Expelling a deep breath, Tony swung his backpack over his shoulder, placed the camera strap around his neck and started the cautious climb down to the wreck. He'd taken just a few steps before he turned back to Gibbs.

"Boss…it's a Jaguar XJ-13," he said, starting the descent again and turning back once more. "Just so you know."

Shaking his head in exasperation, the team leader made his own way down the steep embankment to the accident scene below.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Leaving the gurney and equipment in McGee and Palmer's care, Ducky made his way down the precarious gradient with surprising agility and joined Tony by the car.

"Oh my," he exclaimed softly as he leaned in closely to inspect the bloodied face. "Lance Corporal Livingstone, I presume?"

"That's him," Tony said, the shutter of the camera clicking repeatedly as he photographed the body. "And if he'd worn his seatbelt he and I would be feeling a lot better right now."

"Ah yes, Ziva mentioned your late night with our Greek counterparts when she borrowed some jasmine tea earlier," Ducky said, looking for a way to access the body with the liver probe. "From the look of you, my boy, I would hazard a guess and say that her remedy did not have the desired result."

"I'm fine, Ducky," Tony said, moving position so he could photograph the body from a different angle. "A night's sleep and I'll be good to go."

"Would you believe, Anthony, that there are hangover remedies that make your DiNozzo Defibrillator look positively tame?" the ME said conversationally. "Help me turn this unfortunate fellow will you, my boy?"

Tony swallowed convulsively as they turned the body and Ducky continued his monologue.

"The ancient Greeks used to eat sheep lungs and two owl eggs to beat the hangover blues, while in Outer Mongolia, the preference was a pair of pickled sheep's eyes in tomato juice," he chuckled. "Our Korean friends opted for a beef broth made with pork spine, dried cabbage, coagulated ox blood and vegetables, while in ancient Rome…"

The unmistakable sound of Tony emptying his stomach came from behind a nearby bush.

With a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes, Ducky leaned in close and whispered in the ear of his latest "patient."

"Personally, I have always found that purging one's stomach of the remnants of a night's overindulgence is far more effective, don't you agree, Lance Corporal?"

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

During the next ninety minutes the team performed like a well-oiled machine taking the witness' statement, bagging and tagging, photographing the scene and preparing the body for transportation to the Navy yard for autopsy.

Getting the fully laden gurney to the top of the treacherous embankment proved difficult. McGee and Tony took the left side and Palmer and Master Sergeant Dunn the right as they struggled with their grip and their footing. While supervising proceedings, Ducky regaled them of his time at Eton College where he was coxswain of the men's eight rowing team. Although Tony's nausea had mercifully past, he still had a pounding headache and was sure that if the ME yelled 'stroke' in his ear once more the younger man would more than likely have one.

The horizon was cast in an orange and pink glow and the high clouds in the west were lit with brilliant colour, warning of the approaching sunset. As Ducky and Palmer began their return journey, McGee and Ziva stowed the gear into the trunk of the agency sedan and checked on the arrival time of the NCIS tow truck that would transport the wrecked vehicle back to the Navy yard for testing.

Tony stood on the verge of the embankment watching as his team leader completed a call on his cell and stood by the wrecked car, deeply absorbed in thought.

…'_He did not feel the wind, or smell the salt air. He only stood, staring at the horizon, with the marks of some inner crucifixion and woe deep in his face'…_

"Boss!" Tony called. "We're ready to go? Boss?"

Ziva and McGee exchanged another worried look.

"I'll get him," the senior field agent replied stepping carefully back down the steep and slippery gradient.

As Tony reached the bottom the minute tremor under his feet and the panicked shouts from Ziva and McGee caused him to look quickly at the escarpment. Gravity had prised a large boulder from its tentative resting place and as it gathered dangerous downward momentum, it dislodged other large rocks, soil and debris that now sped toward his position.

He looked to his lead agent and his heart stopped. Gibbs had been so lost in thought that he had mistaken the loud rumbling sound for an approaching storm and was looking skyward for thunderclouds.

Tony was sprinting before he made the conscious decision to do so. He covered the twenty yards quickly, calling for Gibbs as he ran. The team leader turned toward him and his blue eyes widened in surprise as his agent launched himself into a sack that Pro-Football Hall of Fame inductee, John Randle would have been proud to make.

Tony heard the loud 'oomph' as his shoulder impacted against the older man's sternum, driving the oxygen from his lungs. Momentum carried them behind the shelter of the wrecked car as the wave of rocks, soil and debris lost impetus and settled around them, covering everything in a thick layer of dirt.

Throwing caution to the wind, Ziva and McGee scrambled down the embankment at break-neck speed, ignoring the stifling airborne debris that invaded their eyes, noses and throats as they ran toward the wrecked Jaguar calling the names of the senior agents. The relief at finding them unscathed was quickly overridden by surprise and suppressed laughter at finding Gibbs lying supine next to the car with his senior field agent sprawled clumsily on top of him.

Coughing through the choking dust, the lead agent suddenly realised their embarrassing position and pushed Tony away as he scrambled quickly from under him. They took a brief moment waiting until their breathing returned to normal. Levity was a defence Tony relied on to diffuse situations not entirely in his control and this was one of those times…

"So…it's true what they…what they say," Tony gasped. "A rolling stone gathers no boss."

The younger agents rolled their eyes but couldn't hide their relieved grins.

"You see that, Ziva?" he said, flashing that famous DiNozzo smile. "Sleep deprived and hung over and I still have the reflexes of a cat."

"A cat would have landed on its feet, DiNozzo, not sprawled on top of me," Gibbs answered in a clipped tone before accepting a hand up from McGee.

Tony remained on the ground by the car but levered himself up onto his elbows.

"I understand that this is kinda awkward for you, Boss. But I want you to know that just because I saved your life, I don't expect you to feel obligated to me or, you know…feel that you owe me."

The indiscernible change in Gibbs' mood was clearly unexpected as he responded tersely.

"Don't owe you anything."

"Why the hell not? I just saved your ass!" Tony teased feigning an aggrieved expression.

"_You did you're damn job!"_ Gibbs yelled.

As his anger at his own failure outwrestled the shock of his close call, his voice dropped to near freezing point and locked onto Tony as the nearest target.

"You want _thanks_, DiNozzo? You get your pay check every week, if that's not enough for you, find yourself another line of work!"

Gibbs turned on his heel and came face to face with McGee and Ziva.

"You got something to say?" he challenged.

When neither agent replied he shouldered them aside and stepped between them. As he strode determinedly back to the incline he tried to ignore his rapidly beating heart and the slight trembling of legs that threatened to buckle under his weight. He had allowed himself to become distracted and as a result he'd almost been killed – worse still, Tony had to put his own life in jeopardy to save him.

"This stops now," he told himself as he doggedly climbed the embankment toward the agency vehicle.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

_…'__ All that most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the subtle demonisms of life and thought; all evil, to crazy Ahab, were visibly personified, and made practically assailable in Moby-Dick."…_

**0-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

Tony collapsed his elbows and allowed his body to fall back into the dirt as he struggled to control his temper.

"What the hell just happened?" he muttered.

Feeling his teammates' concerned eyes upon him, the frustration and worry he had valiantly tried to disguise all week erupted violently. Furiously, he pounded the side of his fist into the crumpled door panel of the Jaguar, refusing to flinch as the pain shot up his arm and into his shoulder.

"Tony, I'm sure Gibbs didn't mean-"

"_Don't say it, McGee!" _Tony shouted, his fury taking both younger agents by surprise. "Just…don't say it," he repeated in a quieter voice.

Still lying on his back he scrubbed his hands over his face and took several deep-calming breaths as Ziva stepped forward and extended her hand to help him up.

"Tony…we know something is wrong," she said quietly. "You are not Gibbs, please do not shut us out."

Tony turned his head toward the vehicle, suddenly alert to a familiar smell invading his nostrils. He leaned in closer and then slithered on his back until his head and shoulders were under the car. He held out a hand, palm up, and wiggled his fingers.

"I need a light," he said and waited until McGee slapped a penlight into his palm like a surgical instrument. A moment later, he manoeuvred himself from under the vehicle and looked up at them.

"Did you find something?" Ziva asked.

"Caught a whiff of brake fluid," he explained climbing to his feet. "Brake lines could have been damaged in the wreck or…"

"Or they may have been tampered with," McGee finished.

"But the landslide could not have been part of the plan," Ziva stated.

"No, but it's an unpaved mountain road with lots of tight bends and sheer drops," Tony said looking back over the terrain. "Landslide or no landslide this is no road to take with dodgy brakes."

"Sounds like a job for our favourite forensic specialist," McGee added.

"It would explain why the skid marks on the road weren't as prominent as I would've expected from a vehicle trying to avoid a collision," Tony said, his attention drawn to something over their shoulders. "Ziva, how far out is the tow truck?"

"It should be here any minute," she responded.

"Good, 'cause we're going to need a ride."

Ziva and McGee shifted their gaze to where Tony was looking and watched in stunned silence as the dark coloured agency sedan rounded a faraway bend heading back toward Washington without them.

"Damn it!" Tony hissed through tightly clenched teeth.

**0-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

…'_Let Ahab beware of Ahab; beware of thyself, old man…'_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

In the absence of his team leader, Tony assumed the role and took one more look around the crash site to ensure they hadn't missed anything. He dragged his cell from his pocket and dialled Gibbs' number, cursing as it switched to voicemail once again.

Hitching a ride with the tow truck driver, the agents stopped by the administration building and collected the service records and files, advising the commander that he had until morning to have the boxing team back on base and available for questioning if required.

The drive back to the Navy yard in the tow truck was mostly in silence. Ziva and McGee regarded the rigid posture of their senior field agent and knew that under his façade of indifference, he was harbouring a raging mixture of concern, confusion and even resentment for their team leader. They knew that he had reached the limit of his patience and that the next meeting between the two senior agents was likely to be loud and unpleasant.

In an ironic role-reversal, they attempted to engage Tony in some well-intended banter and light-hearted teasing but it wasn't long before their words petered out and the silence that enveloped them quivered with things unsaid.

Tired, concerned and confused, they arrived at the Navy yard, entered the elevator on the garage level and stepped out into the muted light of the bullpen. Tony felt his gut clench tightly as he reached for his cell and keyed Gibbs' number, surprised when the ring tone sounded from the top drawer of the former Marine's desk.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

"Agent DiNozzo, I was just about to call you." The director's voice reached out to them as he descended the staircase and rounded the partition into the bullpen. "You now have point on this investigation."

"Sir?" Tony frowned.

"Gibbs has taken an indefinite leave of absence…effective immediately."

Shocked by the news, the three agents turned toward Gibbs' conspicuously empty desk.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

…'_And of all these things the Albino whale was the symbol. Wonder ye then at the fiery hunt?'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N **Thank you all for a very warm 'welcome back' and your kind reviews, alerts and patience. I hope you enjoyed that chapter, L


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Tony takes point on the investigation as the team tries to come to grips with Gibbs' sudden unexplained departure.

**From Hell's Heart**

**Chapter 3**

Director Vance's gaze flicked from one astonished face to the next as the members of his MCRT absorbed his words. It was clear the news of their team leader's sudden departure was as unexpected to them as it was to him. Deciding to give them a few moments, he started back toward the stairs, calling over his shoulder.

"DiNozzo, I want an update on the case in ten minutes."

"Understood, Sir," Tony replied quietly.

Almost trance-like the teammates rounded their respective desks and dropped heavily into their chairs, McGee and Ziva darting concerned glances between the empty desk and Tony, trying to gauge his reaction.

"Don't you think it's time you told us what's going on," McGee said to Tony.

"You think I know?" Tony replied with a humourless laugh. "Believe me, McGee, I'm as surprised as you are."

He looked from McGee to Ziva, noting the dubious expressions on their faces.

"Look, all I know is that every time I asked Gibbs what was bothering him, he blew me off."

"Do you know why?" the younger agents asked simultaneously.

Tony rolled his eyes and blew out an exasperated breath.

"Did I just say, _all I know?_"

"So…what are we gonna do?" McGee asked.

"We do what we did last time Gibbs left, we do our jobs," Tony said, trying to keep his tone casual and the anger from his voice. "We have an investigation to run."

"He meant, what are we going to do about Gibbs?" Ziva added.

"I know what he meant, Ziva, and the answer is we do nothing." He raised a hand quickly before they could voice their objections. "Look, whatever's going on with Gibbs if he wanted us to know, he would have told us, right? If he wanted us to be able to reach him, he wouldn't have left his cell in his damn desk. He may not have said the words but I heard the "leave me the hell alone," message loud and clear. So it's business as usual until he decides to come back."

"I don't understand. Why wouldn't he just tell us he was taking leave?" McGee asked.

Tony rubbed the heels of his hands into tired eyes as he pondered the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

"Someone should tell Ducky and Abby," Ziva added. "They will both be upset."

"Abby's not due back from court until sometime tomorrow and Ducky's probably started the autopsy on Livingstone," McGee said.

Tony checked his watch.

"It's late…go home, get some rest and we'll deal with this tomorrow."

"And you, Tony?" Ziva asked. "You have not slept in nearly forty hours. You, also, need to rest."

"Right now, I've gotta see Vance and then I'm going home to a hot shower and my comfortable king size bed," he replied climbing wearily to his feet. "I have another appointment with JAG in the morning so I'll see you around zero nine hundred. Go on, get outta here."

Reaching the top of the stairs he looked down in time to see his teammates enter the elevator. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before striding through the mezzanine level to the director's office.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

During the drive to his apartment, Tony took advantage of the wait at a red light to close his eyes and flex the tightness from his neck and shoulders. He'd hoped that Vance would be able to cast some light on Gibbs' sudden departure but the former Marine hadn't given any explanation for his urgent leave request. He'd told Vance that he needed to take some personal time immediately. Though Vance had strongly objected to the lead agent leaving in the middle of an investigation, Gibbs had assured him that Tony was fully briefed on all aspects of the case and more than capable of taking point.

Tony briefed the director on preliminary details of their new case. Vance's keen interest in boxing allowed him to share some additional information on the victim, Lance Corporal Livingstone and the witness, Chief Warrant Officer Mills, both whom fought in the welterweight division of the Marine Corps boxing team.

For the past three years, Mills was the Corps welterweight boxing champion and had also won the Armed Forces welterweight title. Several months earlier, he had suffered a serious hand injury that required surgery. Only a few weeks after surgery and defying medical advice, Mills lost his title defence against Livingstone. Many thought that Mills lacked fitness and preparation but Vance believed he was simply outclassed by the younger and extremely skilful Livingstone.

Mills surprised the Marine boxing fraternity by announcing his availability for selection in the team chosen to compete at the Armed Forces Championships. In a decision that raised more than a few eyebrows, the experienced and highly acclaimed Mills was not an automatic selection but made the welterweight team as a reserve, needing to prove his fitness. It was well known that athletes who win at the Armed Forces level have an opportunity to compete at the Olympic trials for a place in the USA boxing team at the 2012 Olympic games in London.

'_Could be our motive right there,_' Tony thought as the blaring horn from the car behind announced that the traffic light had now turned green.

Arriving home, Tony struggled with the door to his apartment, flicked the light switch and keyed in the code to disarm his security system. He glanced briefly at the postcard from Monaco and tossed it with the rest of the mail and his keys on the sideboard before shucking his backpack and collapsing heavily into his favourite recliner. He hissed, recognising the stabbing pain in his ribs as his holstered Sig Sauer then frowned at the unfamiliar pain his hip. Reaching into his jacket pocket he withdrew Gibbs' cell, surprised that he had placed it there. Still holding the cell, he let his hand fall into his lap and sagged back into the comfortable cushions.

"So what is it this time, Boss?" he muttered quietly.

Anyone who knew Leroy Jethro Gibbs knew he was not an easy man to work for. The fact that Tony had been his partner for ten long years was like a badge of honour to the younger man. In the quiet familiarity of his apartment he cast his mind back over the last few days. The unexplained absences; leaving Tony to handle the crucial interrogation of Gunnery Sergeant Hughes; assigning Tony as liaison for the JAG prosecutor.

He expected Gibbs to be pissed about the lack of sleep and the hangover after his night with the Greek team but the blood tests; the public show of anger and the confrontation with the director were over the top even by the former Marine's standards. As understanding dawned and his rage grew, the fury of it threatened to overwhelm him.

"Son of a bitch, you knew!" Tony cursed.

Suddenly it all made sense. Gibbs had known he might have to leave without warning leaving Tony to lead the team. That's why he had been so angry, so pissed at Tony, so pissed at the situation. He ensured Tony was present when he spoke to the Quantico commander, he'd made sure that it was Tony who briefed the team in the car and he'd even made Tony get close up and personal with every aspect of the crash scene – including the hideously bloodied corpse. This was not retaliation for his over-indulgence - Gibbs had known he was leaving and wanted Tony to be ready to step right into the lead agent's role!

"You couldn't just talk to me, Boss?" he yelled.

He drew a deep calming breath and looked at the cell still held tightly in his hand. His mind flashed back to an image of Gibbs taking a call immediately prior to the rockslide. Pursing his lips, he wondered whether his next action could be considered an invasion of Gibbs' fiercely protected privacy – and then he decided that at this point, he really didn't give a damn.

Checking the call registers he noted that the last call Gibbs made was at zero eight hundred, therefore whomever Gibbs had spoken to at the crash site must have called him. Checking the calls received list his senses went on high alert when he saw five calls received in the last week - all with the international dialling code of Mexico. He didn't need to check the number to know it belonged to the cantina located near Mike Franks' newly rebuilt cabin.

"I should have known."

Thumbing down the call list he spotted the one he'd been searching for, the one Gibbs had received before his sudden departure – it was a DC number. He pressed the call button and listened as it rang three times before it was answered.

"I'm sorry, what number is this?" Tony asked, not catching the greeting.

"This is the Hotel Bailey, Sir, may I help you?" the receptionist asked.

"No, I'm sorry, I think I…" he paused as a thought occurred to him.

"Sir? Sir, are you still there?"

"Ah…yeah, I'm here…" He closed his eyes and went with his instincts. "Would you connect me to Mike Franks' room?"

"I'm afraid Mr Franks checked out this afternoon," the receptionist advised.

"Did he leave a number where he could be reached?" Tony asked.

"No, Sir, Mr Franks advised that he would be unreachable."

As he ended the call Tony felt his gut twist painfully.

Gibbs and Franks, both in town and both unreachable could only mean one thing – trouble.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

…"_Here, then, was this grey-headed, ungodly old man, chasing with curses a Job's whale round the world. At the head of the crew, too, chiefly made up of mongrel renegades. Such a crew, so officered, seemed specially picked and packed by some infernal fatality to help him to his monomaniac revenge"…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

McGee and Ziva were working at their desks by the time Tony arrived back from the JAG office mid-morning. Carrying a recyclable cardboard tray, he placed a cup of hot tea on Ziva's desk and a coffee on McGee's, not missing their surprised expressions as he rounded his own desk and took a seat.

"You must have been in early," McGee commented. "Your computer was already on when I got in. Is everything alright?"

"Why wouldn't it be," Tony answered casually.

"Well, because you just did something really nice for Ziva and me and it's really freaking us out."

Ziva sipped her tea and cast a critical look over her senior field agent. Unlike the previous morning, he looked more than presentable in a dark charcoal suit and tie and crisp white shirt. He was freshly shaved and appeared more rested.

"Scrutinising again, Ziva?" Tony asked feeling her gaze upon him.

"I was just wondering," she shrugged indifferently. "Did you go this morning?"

"Well, that depends," Tony replied. "Are you asking if I went to the gym or are you inquiring after my morning defecation – 'cause either way the answer is yes."

"Ew – Tony, you are disgusting!" she scolded, ignoring his childish grin.

"That maybe so, Zee-vah, but like it or not, I'm in charge! Numero Uno, head honcho, top dog, muckety muck, the big kahuna, so you're stuck with me until Gibbs comes back."

"Speaking of Gibbs," McGee said. "Have you heard from him?"

"When Gibbs wants to contact us, Probalicious, he will," Tony replied. "Meanwhile, we have a case to solve and that means…campfire!"

Tony suppressed a grin watching his teammates spring from their chairs and immediately gather in the centre of the bullpen. As much as they rolled their eyes and griped about his campfires, he knew they enjoyed the opportunity to freely put forward their ideas and theories in an informal, casual discussion.

"Before we start, when will Abby be back from the courthouse?" Tony asked.

"I spoke to her this morning. She should be finished at the courthouse by now and she'll start on Livingstone's car right away," McGee replied.

"You tell her about Gibbs?"

"Well, I…er…"

"You didn't tell her?" Tony asked.

"I was going to but then I realised that it wasn't fair to just blurt news like that to someone over the phone and she's really gonna be upset and she'll probably cry, so… as you are acting team leader…"

"Take a breath, McWuss, you're off the hook."

McGee exhaled audibly.

"Thank you, Tony. When are you going to tell her?"

"Me? I was thinking that this is something she should hear from...I don't know, a gal-pal maybe?"

The two men slowly turned their heads toward Ziva who had been unusually quiet.

"Do not even _think_ about it!" Ziva stated plainly. "Besides, I think that Ducky would be far better equipped to handle such a sensitive situation."

"First _I _have to tell _him_, " Tony grimaced before snapping back into work mode. "What do we have on our dearly departed Lance Corporal?"

As McGee began his report, he clicked the remote and Livingstone's image appeared on the plasma screen.

"Lance Corporal John Nicholas Livingstone, aged 24, came from a wealthy family from Bristol, Rhode Island. He was the older of two sons - his father owns the multi-million dollar company, Bristol Aeronautics. According to his college records Livingstone was bordering on genius but it was his younger brother, Andrew who had been groomed to take over the family business."

"If he was an exceptional student and the first born son, why was Livingstone not groomed to take over the family business?" Ziva asked.

"From what I can tell, Livingstone and his father had a rocky relationship while younger brother, Andrew, was the apple of Dad's eye. Andrew was charming and athletic but nowhere near the scholar Livingstone was. A skinny, brainy kid, Livingstone turned to boxing as a means to defend himself against bullying in high school and college." McGee looked thoughtful for a moment. "Huh, not too dissimilar to myself."

"Skinny and brainy?" Tony said. "Hate to break this to you Probie but nothing's really changed."

McGee rolled his eyes. "I meant that _I_ had to learn to defend myself against bullies as well."

"Livingstone learned to box and you learned to fence. Been challenged to a dual lately, McFoil?"

"I did not realise you had such a difficult time at school, McGee," Ziva remarked.

"Not difficult as such, but I never really felt comfortable with the jocks and the cool kids."

"Probie was too school for cool."

McGee nodded sadly. "I hoped things would be different at college but things were just as bad there."

Tony choked out a cough, narrowly avoiding spraying his partners with coffee.

"Lotta jocks at MIT and John Hopkins, were there, Probie?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, Tony, there were _plenty_ of jocks at MIT and John Hopkins!" he replied with mild indignation.

Tony's grin widened at the thought.

"Would that be biophysics jocks or quantum physics jocks?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, no! I'm just having a hard time picturing two kids settling their differences behind the bleachers by challenging each other to linear algebra equations," he tilted his head as if trying to conjure the image and waved his hand. "Doesn't matter, back to our lance corporal."

"Livingstone pushed himself hard and was accepted into Princeton where he was mastering in mechanical and aerospace engineering." McGee continued. "In 2009 his brother Andrew died in a boating accident, Livingstone had a huge falling out with his father and was cut off from the family money."

"Ouch! Okay, now I'm the one having flashbacks," Tony quipped.

"He dropped out of college and joined the Marine infantry division. He had no criminal record, his service record was exemplary and he appeared to be well liked by his superiors and his peers. He continued his boxing and was regarded as the number one welterweight in the Corps."

"And, according to Vance, the Corps best chance at regaining the Armed Forces boxing title," Tony said turning to Ziva.

"What about our witness, Chief Warrant officer Mills?"

Ziva took the remote from McGee and clicked it at the plasma as Mills' image joined Livingstone's on screen.

"Chief Warrant Officer Brendan Jacob Mills, aged 32. He is a career Marine and an aircraft maintenance engineer stationed in Jacksonville, North Carolina. He also has an excellent service record and is on the short list for promotion to second lieutenant."

"Mills said he was first at scene but he didn't see the accident, right?" Tony asked.

"That is what he said," she replied raising an eyebrow sceptically.

"You think he's lying?"

"I know he is lying…but not about that. This morning I spoke with Captain Nick Holding, the officer in charge of the boxing team. He told me that Mills and Livingstone had been assigned as training partners and billeted together for the last six weeks."

"Seems a bit strange to billet them together when Mills had just lost his title to Livingstone," McGee commented.

"Apparently it is quite common to place a young fighter with a more experienced one. Holding had spoken to both Mills and Livingstone beforehand and both were happy with the billet. He said they appeared to get on very well until night before the accident when Mills asked to be partnered with someone else for the last week of camp."

"He say why?"

"He did not. Captain Holding assumed it was simply a build-up of anxiety due to the upcoming tournament and he arranged a three-day pass for the team," she explained. "But there's something else…Captain Holding said that he had trained with Livingstone that afternoon. When the captain went to lock up, Livingstone asked if he could stay an extra 30 minutes to use the gym equipment. The captain agreed and when he left, Livingstone was the only one there."

"Then how did Mills get back there?" Tony said.

"And why would he lie," McGee added.

"Captain Holding said that Livingstone appeared depressed. He presumed there had been a disagreement the night before but Livingstone did not wish to discuss it. Mills had left the facility at least two hours before. I checked with the gate and Mills never signed out."

"Looks like he was waiting until Livingstone was alone," McGee suggested. "An aircraft maintenance engineer would know his way around brake lines."

"We do not yet know whether the brake lines were cut and we have not established a motive?" Ziva asked.

Tony pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"According to Vance, Livingstone won Mills' Marine Corps championship title and Mills had to settle for reserve on the welterweight team," he said.

"Killing Livingstone would appear to be a rather extreme way to win a place on the boxing team," Ziva added.

"Maybe he didn't plan to kill him, just injure him enough so he'd have to withdraw. Tournament's a week away and there's a possible berth to the London Olympics up for grabs," Tony replied. "He probably hoped to be halfway home to Jacksonville before Livingstone was found but he didn't count on Mother Nature and getting caught on the wrong side of the landslide."

"What do you want to do?" McGee asked.

"Probie, check Livingstone's phone and banking records. He's not from around here, if he had a problem maybe he called someone to talk to about it. And check with Quantico; see if the training facility has security cameras in the parking lot. Maybe we'll get lucky and see someone tampering with the car."

"What about me?" Ziva asked.

"We need to know what caused the rift between Livingstone and Mills the night before the accident. Check with the others on the boxing team; see if anyone knows. And get Mills back in here but don't tell him why."

"Where will you be?"

"With Ducky."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00**

The elevator deposited Tony on the Autopsy level and he entered the cavernous room. With his back to the door, Dr Mallard was leaning over his latest patient and placing the final stitches into the Y incision.

"Ah Jethro!" the doctor greeted cordially. "I was beginning to wonder what was keeping you."

"It's me, Ducky," Tony said quietly, steeling his features to a neutral expression as the doctor turned toward him.

"Anthony!" Ducky said in an equally welcoming tone. "I was expecting Jethro. Things must be frightfully busy upstairs. Not to worry, I am delighted to have the pleasure of your company."

"Gotta cause of death for me?"

"Asphyxiation," Ducky replied definitively.

"He smothered?" Tony asked in surprise.

"He did indeed. As you know, the vehicle in which our young lance corporal was travelling, left the road and rolled several times. As he neglected to fasten his seat belt, his body was thrown about the vehicle with considerable force. His head impacted with the windshield so forcefully that his upper torso came to rest on the console of the vehicle. Although there is evidence to suggest that he would have ultimately succumbed to blunt force trauma of the cranium, I have reason to believe that the actual cause of death was asphyxiation."

Ducky directed Tony to the row of x-ray boxes illuminated on the wall and pointed to a film of Livingstone's head and neck.

"These x-rays confirm that he sustained serious fractures to the C-1 and C-2 vertebrae."

"Which caused paralysis and stopped him from breathing," Tony added.

"Exactly. As Abigail had not yet returned from her judicial responsibilities, I took the liberty of performing preliminary tests on a sample of the victim's blood and lung tissue. Both showed a build-up of gasses and minimal oxygen. It would have taken several minutes but I'm afraid our young friend died of asphyxiation."

"Are all of his injuries were consistent with the accident?"

"I didn't say that," Ducky replied.

He moved closer to the body and pointed to the multiple cuts and gashes on the face, neck and shoulders.

"I found some bruises that weren't caused by the accident and-"

"Ducky, the man's a boxer, bruises are an occupational hazard."

"Yes, I'm certain they are…but not like these." Ducky pointed to the man's upper jaw and cheekbone where a row of small round bruises was clearly visible.

"Knuckles?"

"Right again, my boy! Occupational hazard or not, these bruises were caused not by the impact of a boxing glove but from bare knuckles and they were sustained shortly before the accident."

Tony leaned in for a closer look. "How can you tell?"

"Because, dear boy, bruises are blood from broken capillaries that seep into surrounding tissues and clot under the skin. Once the heart stops beating the blood ceases to pump…but it does continue to seep for a short time. Therefore, with the aid of a microscope it is possible to determine whether a bruise was inflicted before, during or after death."

"How?"

"A bruise inflicted during or after death will contain the normal count of white blood cells but a bruise inflicted during life will contain an abnormally high number of white cells because white cells move to the site of an injury to start the healing process."

"So Lance Corporal Livingstone was involved in a bare knuckled fight how long before the accident?"

"I would estimate that the bruising occurred less than 30 minutes prior to the accident. Our lance corporal did not fight back, his knuckles showed no new bruises or lacerations."

"Don't suppose there's a way to determine who owns the knuckles that left the bruises on his face?" Tony asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not. There was no tissue to extract a DNA sample other than that belonging to our young friend here. Even if the bruising pattern could be matched to the size of someone's fist, I doubt very much doubt that it would be conclusive evidence in a court of law.'

"So, there's no evidence to suggest any foul play and with the exception of a recently bruised cheekbone, all other injuries are consistent with the having been in a car wreck?"

"Well, we still need to run tox screens but yes, prior to his car plummeting over that cliff, Lance Corporal Livingstone was in excellent physical condition. Did you know, Anthony, that the use of hand protection in fighting contests undertaken for sport has been known since at least Ancient Greece? Anthony? Anthony?"

Pulled back from his musings, Tony glanced at Ducky's concerned scowl. Clearing his throat, he made a show of straightening his posture and nodding his head feigning interest. Ducky huffed out a sigh.

"Why is it that I get the distinct impression that you didn't hear a solitary word that I said?" he scolded mildly.

"No, no, I did…it was very…interesting…really," Tony lied.

Ducky folded his arms, wise blue eyes peering above the rims of his glasses.

"What is it, Anthony? It's not like you to be so distracted, even during one of my stories," he chuckled.

"Nothing's wrong, Doc...everything's peachy."

"That act of indifference may work with some people, Anthony DiNozzo, but I know you better than that! Now…what has you so concerned?

Tony met the ME's gentle gaze and spoke the words he still found hard to reconcile.

"Gibbs is gone, Ducky," he said. "Without a word to any of us, he told the director he was taking indefinite leave and walked out."

Ducky listened to Tony's words, watching as the younger man's face became a playground of conflicting emotions, masking the turmoil that stirred within him.

"Anthony…"

"Not the pep talk please, Ducky. I just don't think I can handle it right now."

The words were spoken without malice, just a sigh and a weariness that seemed to run bone marrow deep. Ducky knew the high esteem in which Tony held Gibbs and knew that his sudden departure was tearing at the very foundation of their friendship.

"I was simply going to ask how you're coping, my boy."

"Honestly, Ducky, I'm fine," Tony replied, as he began to pace. "Well, as fine as I can be. I'd be a lot better if my partner of ten years would get it through his damn hard head that running off on his own every time he has a problem never solves anything. Or God forbid he actually practises what he preaches and lets us tackle whatever the hell the problem is, as a team. 'Cause I gotta tell ya Ducky, I'm getting damn sick of having my ass kicked and my head slapped by someone who doesn't seem to trust me enough to…"

"Tony…" Ducky said gently, the shortened version of his name having more impact.

The former detective took a deep breath and turned back to Ducky, smiling sheepishly.

"Okay, forget I said all that and just remember the 'Honestly I'm fine' part."

Ducky smiled sadly and shook his head.

"Don't do this to yourself, Anthony, it serves no purpose," he pleaded. "I have known Jethro for many years and consider him a very close friend. I know you look up to him but he _is_ just a man. We all need someone to look up to at sometime in our lives. Idols have feet of clay and can be toppled, while heroes are flawed; yes, even Leroy Jethro Gibbs. They are flawed to let us know that although they are heroes they are also men. Anthony, whomever you choose to look up to, n_ever _believe that their star shines brighter than your own."

The echo of the words hung heavily in the quiet of the autopsy room until the silence was shattered by the shrill of Tony's cell. He checked the caller ID and answered.

"Yeah, McGee…I'll grab a Caf-Pow and I'll be right there," he said snapping the cell shut.

"Crime investigation waits for no-one," Ducky chuckled.

"Now comes the hard part," Tony replied, his lips twisted in the parody of a smile. "Telling Abby."

"Abigail will be very upset," Ducky said with a rueful shake of his head. "Would you like me to come with you, dear boy?"

"No thanks, Ducky, McGee and I've got it covered," Tony replied.

He took a few strides toward the elevator and turned to look at the doctor, his face as serious as Ducky had ever seen it.

"Gotta tell ya, Ducky, I'm getting sick of trying to hold the pieces together until he's ready to come back. He better have a damn good reason for walking out on us again."

Ducky watched him leave and for the first time, allowed his bitter disappointment to rise to the surface.

"For pity's sake, Jethro, why do you continually turn away from those who would move heaven and earth to help you?"

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

…_"What is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst not so much as dare?"…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N **Many thanks for your very kind reviews and messages. I'm overwhelmed. L


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N - Please excuse the length of this chapter - it's quite long, even by my usual standards. There was a lot to get through and I think you'll agree that it would have lost fluidity had I stopped sooner. L**

**From Hell's Heart**

**Chapter 4**

Tony walked quickly from Autopsy to the forensics lab knowing he would find it in darkness; its usual occupant was working on Livingstone's car in the NCIS garage. The glow from the refrigeration unit guided his way and he grabbed a carton of Caf-Pow from the shelf. He turned back to the door, taking only a few steps before he stood motionless in the middle of the room.

In the quiet solitude of the lab the internal battle that had been gnawing at him, suddenly threatened to devour him. He had ruthlessly shoved his feelings of anger and resentfulness to the back of his mind and had strived to maintain a "business as usual" façade. After all, that's what was expected of him, right? To put the fragile pieces back together and hold them in place until Gibbs opted to return.

Without conscious thought, he reached for his cell and hit speed dial. The phone rang twice before Gibbs' home answering machine kicked in.

"This is Gibbs, leave a message."

He heard the machine beep and opened his mouth to speak but words failed him. He wanted to say that he was here if Gibbs needed him; he needed to say that whatever the problem was, they would work it out together…the words never came but the anger did. He wanted to ask why the hell Gibbs felt the need to run out on him again; he needed to know why his partner of ten years demanded his trust but couldn't return it.

He snapped his cell closed before the hurtful words could escape. He felt the Caf-Pow chilling the fingers of his other hand. Vanquishing his feelings once again, he took a deep breath, donned his mask and forced his legs to move as he went in search of Abby.

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

…'_Ah, mortal! then, be heedful; for so, in all this din of the great world's loom, thy subtlest thinkings may be overheard afar'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tony dashed breathlessly from the stairwell and met McGee by the elevator.

"How long has she been back?" he gasped.

"Just over an hour," McGee confirmed. "She's working on the brake line."

"Okay, it's now or never," Tony said.

"You ready?" the younger man inquired.

"I'm ready."

They entered the elevator, pressed the button for the garage level and stood shoulder-to-shoulder exchanging a tight smile. As the car started to descend, Tony flicked the emergency stop switch bringing it to a shuddering halt.

"What's the matter?" McGee asked.

"I'm not ready," Tony answered.

"You just said you were."

"I changed my mind, _okay?_" Tony snapped. "Gimme a minute here…I just…I need a minute."

"I know how you feel but…I mean…it's Abby, right? She's the easiest person in the whole world to talk to," McGee encouraged.

"Right," Tony nodded. "That's exactly why I think you'll do such a great job telling her that Gibbs just up and left without a word."

"Me? I'm not telling her!"

"You just said she was the easiest person to talk to in the world."

"She is! But not about _this!_" McGee exclaimed.

Tony started to pace back and forth like a caged lion.

"Okay…we need a plan," he said.

"We'll tell her together," McGee suggested. "We're all friends; we can do this, Tony. In the line of duty, we've had to give hundreds of women bad news. We'll be calm and composed and sensitive. After all, we may be guys but we're in touch with our feminine sides…"

"Some of us are more in touch than others," Tony quipped.

"That's not true!"

"Tell me you're not still reading Redbook and I'll apologise."

McGee squirmed uncomfortably.

"Like I told you before, it's the definitive magazine for today's young woman," he defended meekly.

"I rest my case," Tony replied smugly. "So…that's the plan? Calm, composed and sensitive?"

"That's the plan…what do you think?"

"I think we need another plan, I think we need plan B."

"We don't need a plan B," McGee growled. "Besides, your plan B's never work."

"They do so work!" Tony said, affronted. "Just…not very often."

"Plan A," McGee repeated. "Calm, composed and sensitive. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Tony nodded as he flicked the emergency switch. As the lights brightened and the elevator whirred back to life McGee reached across and flicked the switch again.

"Now what?" Tony hissed.

"Have you got a clean handkerchief?"

Tony looked aghast.

"If you ask me if I'm wearing clean shorts, McGoo, I'm gonna smack ya!"

"The clean handkerchief is for Abby," he said rifling through his suit pockets. "Doesn't matter, I've got one. I'm just trying to be prepared - this is really going to upset her."

Their levity dissipated as the truth of McGee's words descended upon them like an unbearable weight.

"Let's do this," Tony said sombrely as he released the elevator from its stasis and allowed it to travel the rest of the way uninterrupted.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Arriving in the evidence garage they looked across the large workshop and saw the remains of Livingstone's Jaguar on the car lift with Abby in pigtails and red coveralls standing underneath.

"Hey guys!" she called as she saw them approach. "I missed you. Two days in a courtroom dressed as corporate Barbie is, like, way too long."

"We missed you too, Abs," Tony said, handing over the Caf-Pow and looking pointedly at McGee.

"Where's Gibbs?" she asked innocently.

Tony nudged McGee with his elbow but the younger agent appeared to have been struck dumb.

"He's…uh…busy," Tony answered, hoping not to sound too evasive.

Abby's eyes narrowed in suspicion as she took a long draught of her Caf-Pow.

"What are you hiding, Tony? You're not telling me something." She suddenly paled in horror. "Oh my God, oh my God! He's dead! Gibbs is dead!"

"What? What are you talking about?" Tony scowled. "No-one said Gibbs was dead?"

"No-one said he wasn't," she countered with eyes filled with fear.

"Seriously, Abs, you really expect me to walk in here every time and say 'Whatcha got Abs, oh, and by the way, Gibbs is not dead?" Tony retorted.

"Then where is he? Why isn't he here and why are you two looking like...like Glum and Glummer?"

"Okay, something has happened," Tony said. "We don't want to upset you but there's no easy way to tell you this…so…McGee will be as gentle as he can. Won't you, McGee?"

For a long moment, McGee looked like a deer caught in the spotlight until he noticed Abby swipe the back of her hand across her eyes, determinedly refusing to let the tears fall. He took a deep breath and released the words quickly in one breath.

"Tony's acting team leader because Gibbs has been acting really crazy lately yelling at everybody and no one knows why and he took indefinite leave and just went off without telling anyone where he went or when he was coming back."

"What?" Abby exclaimed, becoming even paler. "Gibbs is gone?"

"Way to sugar-coat it, McTactless!" Tony growled.

"No, no, he wouldn't! Gibbs wouldn't do that, not after last time! Tony, tell McGee he's wrong!"

"I wish I could, Abs, but it's true," he answered quietly before cupping a hand under her elbow and guiding her to a chair.

He signalled for McGee to sit on Abby's other side. With McGee holding her hand, Tony wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and explained what had happened.

She listened to the explanation and, unable to hold back any longer, Abby closed her eyes against the swell of tears that, in spite of the barrier, tracked a trail of mascara down her pale cheeks.

"Does anyone have a handkerchief?" she sniffed.

Instantly, McGee's crisp, white handkerchief appeared and she accepted it gratefully and wiped her eyes. Very pleased that his earlier preparation had paid off, the younger agent gave Tony a nod and an exaggerated wink.

Abby opened overly bright eyes that desperately sought reassurance.

"Someone needs to find him and bring him back," she said, fighting for calm. "You, Tony, you're the only one who can make him listen when he gets like this."

"Abby, believe me, _no-one_ can make him listen when he's like this!" Tony said.

"But there has to be a reason!" she insisted.

"There's _always_ a reason but whatever's going on with him, he made it very clear that he didn't want to talk to me."

"Tony's right Abs," McGee said, giving her hand a squeeze. "Gibbs has been shutting him out all week, he shut us all out!"

"But we can't just let him go! He's Gibbs; nothing's the same without him! You have to find him, Tony!"

"Abs, we're in the middle of a freaking case!" Tony replied with more bitterness than he'd intended. "Maybe Gibbs can walk away from his responsibilities but I can't do it! I won't!"

He rose to his feet suddenly and strode several feet away before consciously slamming the lid on his own feelings of betrayal and pulling himself back into line.

"Tony," Abby whispered in a barely audible voice. "I never got to say goodbye."

Slowly, he turned back to her, unable to stand the misery in her eyes. He took a large breath and exhaled loudly.

"This case comes first," he said. "We solve this case and if nothing else breaks I'll find him and go talk to him. That's the best I can do."

She smiled sadly and walked slowly toward him. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, the rigidity of the muscles in his shoulders and back told her more than words, that he was just as worried as she was. Pulling away, he placed a chastened kiss on her cheek and held her at arms-length.

"Whatcha got for me, Abs?" he said quietly.

Composing herself, Abby straightened her shoulders and attempted another smile.

"Let's talk brake lines," she said, walking under the car lift.

As they moved to join her, Tony and gave McGee a sharp look.

"That was calm, composed and sensitive?" he whispered. "You were no help at all!"

"What do you mean? She used my hanky," McGee defended as they ducked their heads slightly to stand next to Abby under the car.

"Most brake fluids used today are glycol-ether based, but mineral oil known as Citroën liquidehydrauliqueminéral and silicone based fluids are also available," Abby explained before adding sheepishly. "That's _so_ not important but it's such a cool word to say…Citroën liquidehydrauliqueminéral…Citroën liquidehydrauliqueminéral…"

"Just rolls off the tongue," McGee quipped.

"Abs?" Tony prompted.

"Oh, sorry…most cars and light trucks have hydraulic braking systems. That means they use fluid to transfer the braking power from the foot pedal to the brakes. The fluid is stored in the master cylinder - when the brake pedal is applied it moves fluid from the master cylinder to the brake calipers, forcing them to clamp down on the brake rotors to slow the car."

"We've come a long way since the Fred Flintstone barefoot braking technique," Tony added, pleased to see a grin form on his favourite scientist's face as she punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"That fluid is carried through the brake lines, making them a critical brake part. If your brake lines don't work, your brakes won't work and you and your car will be in, like, a whole mess of trouble."

"You know, Abs, if you taught my auto-shop class in high school, I would have got more than a C minus," McGee noted.

"Aw, thanks, Timmy!"

"Guys!"

"Sorry, Gibbs…I mean, Tony," Abby said with a grimace. "Now, there are rubber flex lines that, after years of being moved back and forth, get weak spots, it's those spots that can and do break. So, when the rubber flex lines burst due to wear over time, they usually burst because of the amount of hydraulic pressure like when the driver stomps on the brake pedal."

"So, that what happened here, Abs?" Tony asked. "Nothing to suggest that someone tampered with the brake lines?"

"My guess is that someone helped them along but it's really really hard to say for sure. They definitely weren't cut but the flex lines are so worn, if someone knew what they were doing, just a few tiny pinpricks in the right place could definitely cause them to burst if the driver had to brake hard. Plus, because the flex lines are so badly damaged, the pinpricks would be virtually undetectable."

"You think an aircraft maintenance engineer would know how to do that, Abs? McGee asked.

"Absolutely, those guys go through, like, years of training on all kinds of engines and machinery," Abby replied.

"Without irrefutable proof this is all conjecture," McGee said with an audible sigh.

The two agents leaned in from opposite sides and each planted a kiss on Abby's cheeks.

"Thanks, Abs," they said simultaneously as they headed back to the elevator.

"Tony!" she called.

The acting lead agent turned back to see Abby anxious chewing on her lower lip, her green eyes so filled with hurt that they struck him like a blow.

"I know, Abs, I know," he replied to her silent plea before joining McGee in the elevator.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0  
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Back in the bullpen, McGee made a few calls in response to a hit he'd received on a computer search, while Tony brought Vance up to date with the case. He was unsure how he felt about the director's increased involvement. He'd given Tony a lot more credit since he'd turned the tables on Eli David in Israel and took point on the Somalia operation. There was no doubt that the director's knowledge of boxing had provided a possible motive but Tony couldn't help but wonder whether Vance was here to help or to see for himself whether the younger man could step up and fill Gibbs' formidable shoes.

"So, in effect, we have nothing to prove that Mills had anything to do with Livingstone's death or that this was anything other than a tragic accident," Vance surmised.

"Nothing other than a few unanswered questions," Tony replied.

"Such as?"

"Why Mills approached his CO the night prior to the accident and requested to change training partners and billets? And if Mills left the facility two hours prior to the accident, how did he end up on the wrong side of the landside and who gave Livingstone the black eye?"

"Where is Mills?"

"Ziva just brought him in, he's in interrogation."

"The brass is turning up the heat. Livingstone was a highly regarded Marine and boxer. With the Armed Forces tournament just days away, there's a lot of interest in this case."

"I'm on it." Tony replied as Ziva and McGee joined them. "You got something, Probie?"

"I think I know what may have caused the tension between Mills and Livingstone on Thursday night," McGee said clicking the remote and displaying credit card details on the screen. Several transactions were highlighted, all from a nightclub. "I checked Livingstone's accounts for the time he's been at Quantico. Seems whenever he had a leave pass, he headed for this bar."

"Livingstone is a Marine, McGee, Marines drink," Ziva stated.

"Not when they're training for an important fight," Vance added.

"The Midnight Shift?" Tony read aloud. "I've never heard of it."

"I'd be surprised if you had," McGee said. "It's in Fredricksburg, Virginia."

"Long way to go for a drink. He have a girl there?"

McGee shuffled awkwardly.

"Ah…let's just say that this isn't exactly the kind of place to go if you want to meet girls."

Tony's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You mean if we don't ask…"

"I won't tell," McGee replied with a nod.

"Would that be enough to cause a rift between Livingstone and Mills?" Ziva asked.

"There's one way to find out," Tony said, picking up a file from his desk.

"With no conclusive medical or forensic evidence, we'll need a confession," Vance added. "I've seen his type before, he'll be a hard nut to crack. Tread cautiously, DiNozzo, one wrong move and he'll scream for an attorney and we'll have nothing."

Well aware of the difficulty of the task ahead, Tony nodded distractedly.

"Probie, Ziva - nice work," Tony said over his shoulder as he headed for interrogation. "I'm expecting a delivery from Quantico. Make sure you bring it straight in."

Vance, Ziva and McGee exchanged a confused glance.

"What is this delivery?" Ziva asked.

"I've have no idea," McGee shrugged.

"This should be interesting," Vance suggested walking toward the observation room. "Let's get a ringside seat."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"Chief Warrant Officer Mills?" Tony asked as he strode confidently through the door of the interrogation room and took a seat opposite the Marine.

"Yes, Sir," Mills replied crisply.

"My name is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, but you can call me Tony. Thanks for coming down today, I know you're on leave so I'll try not to take too much of your time," Tony opened the file he'd brought in with him and looked up suddenly. "Would you like something to drink, soda, coffee? There's a place just down the block that makes the best espresso…I could send someone to get you something."

"I'm fine, thank you, Sir," Mills replied.

"Have a stick of gum," Tony said, extending the pack toward the Marine. "I hate to chew alone."

Mills reluctantly reached for the gum, eyeing Tony cautiously and not sure what to make of the easy going approach.

"I'm not really sure why I'm here, Sir, I told Special Agent David everything I know about the accident."

"I don't want to know about the accident, Chief, I wanna know about Lance Corporal John Livingstone," Tony said, opening the file and shuffling a few pages. "How well did you know him?"

"As I told Special Agent David, I first met Livingstone four months ago when we fought for the Corps boxing championship. We met again six weeks ago when the train-on team was announced and we were billeted together."

"So you were the Marine Corps and Armed Forces welterweight boxing champion for three years running?"

"Yes, Sir."

Tony whistled through his teeth. "Impressive," he said before continuing to peruse the file. "Says here that after suffering a potentially career-ending hand injury you returned to the ring against medical advice to defend your titles."

"That's correct, Sir."

"I know a bit about career-ending injuries, myself," Tony said leaning back casually in his chair. "Played running back for Ohio State - I was fast and had good hands. In my final year, we were playing Michigan and kissing our sisters when I broke my leg in the fourth quarter – wham! that was the end of my pro-football aspirations."

"That's bad luck."

"What are gonna do?" Tony said with a shrug. "Shit happens, right?"

"Yes, Sir, I guess it does."

The acting lead agent turned his attention back to the file on the desk.

"Severe break to the first knuckle of the third finger. That would be tall man, right?" he said holding up his middle finger. "I gotta tell you, Chief, not many boxers could come back from an injury like that. Defending your title must have meant a lot to you."

"Was all I could think about, Sir."

"Must've hurt like hell when Livingstone sat you on your ass in the fifth round and took your title," Tony said shaking his head. "Then, to add insult to injury, you make the train-on team by the skin of your teeth only to find out that not only is Livingstone assigned as your training partner but you're billeted together."

"Wasn't a problem, Sir, it's how the boxing team has always operated. They put the younger fighters with some of the –"

"Has-beens?" Tony suggested provocatively.

"The more experienced fighters…Sir," Mills said, choking on the final word.

"At thirty-two, you're the oldest man on the team, yes?"

"Lotta boxers fight into their late thirties. Sugar Ray Leonard fought his last professional bout when he was forty."

"And he _lost_," Tony chuckled. "Everybody except Ray seemed to know that he had past his prime. Ah…but what a fighter! I was a kid when he fought his rematch against Roberto Duran. Late in the seventh round, Ray was just playing with him – toying with him like a cat does to a mouse - then he wound up his right hand, like he was getting ready for a bolo punch and then, _pow_! he snaps out a left jab and caught Duran flush in the face."

Mills' eyes narrowed as he watched the agent's animated re-enactment of the legendary boxing moment. He noted the easy-going demeanor and immediately felt the tension ease in his shoulders.

"You ever do any boxing, Sir?"

"Me? Nah…took a couple of classes a few years ago but that's about it. According to my boss, I'm more of a brawler than a fighter…but I'm deceptively scrappy even if I do say so myself."

"I just bet you are, Sir," Mills said with enough sarcasm for Tony to know he was getting under the man's skin.

"Maybe you can clear something up for me, Chief. There's a discrepancy between the statement you gave Special Agent David and one given by your CO Captain Holding."

"Discrepancy?"

"Yeah, probably nothing to worry about; happens all the time actually," Tony shrugged. "Captain Holding said that you left the training facility approximately two hours prior to Livingstone yet you arrived at the accident site after he did? How'd that happen?"

"I…I left my wallet in my locker. I drove back to get it," Mills said.

"Oh, okay…that makes sense. Can't have three days leave without your wallet, right? When you went back to the training camp, did you see anyone?"

"Just Livingstone. He was locking up when I got there, he waited until I grabbed my wallet and we left."

"You left together yet, by your own estimate, you arrived at the accident site ten minutes after it occurred?"

"He was driving a Jaguar and he loved to push that thing to its limits," Mills said. "Left me and my old clunker in his wake."

"You see anyone else on the road or someone in the parking lot hanging around Livingstone's car?"

"His car?"

"There's a possibility that Livingstone's brake line was tampered with," Tony said, studying the features of the Marine closely. "Our forensic specialist is the best in the business. If someone messed with the brake line, she'll find out."

Mills was startled by a sudden knock at the door and it opened wide enough for McGee to poke his head through.

"Excuse me, Tony, that security tape that you've been waiting for has just been delivered," he said with a puzzled frown. "This the parking lot of the boxing training facility at Quantico?"

"Yep," Tony said, taking the tape from McGee and placing it on the desk. "The two main security cameras were disabled some time ago but we got lucky. There was a third camera mounted on the main building that overlooks the parking lot."

"Really?" McGee replied. "You want me to check it out?"

"Nah, I'll do it, the Chief and I are nearly done here."

McGee nodded and left the room and Tony's attention returned to Mills who licked his lips nervously.

"Sorry about that, been waiting for that tape all morning. It just might save me a lot of time." Tony closed the file. "So, tell me about Livingstone, you two get along?"

"We got along fine. Livingstone was a fine Marine, a talented boxer and a good man. I liked him."

Tony nodded his head, noting that Mills had dropped the courtesy title. He suppressed his satisfied grin, knowing he was getting to the man.

"Some of your buddies from the boxing team seemed to think Livingstone had kind of a hero-worship thing going on with you."

Mills shrugged.

"He was eager to learn all he could about the fight game and I was more than happy to teach him."

"You guys lived in each other's pockets for six weeks, must've got to know each other pretty well?"

"I guess."

"He tell you anything about his family? Was he seeing anyone?"

"He didn't talk about himself much."

"Really? From what I hear you and Livingstone became pretty tight. In fact, a lot of your colleagues said they'd never seen Livingstone as talkative and relaxed as he was in the last few weeks. Even when you were confined to base, you spent your off duty hours together, hanging out in the gym, going for runs… He ever tell you he was gay?"

Mills' face flushed slightly and he averted his eyes.

"I'll take that as a yes," Tony remarked, pursing his lips in thought. "We'll come back to that later."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

In the observation room, the other agents watched on with great interest.

"What is he doing?" Ziva asked in frustration. "Twice Tony has had Mills squirming and twice he has released the pressure."

"Have you heard of the Ali shuffle, Agent David?" Vance asked with a wry smile.

"Made famous by Muhammad Ali, yes?" she replied.

"You're watching the DiNozzo shuffle."

"I am sorry, Director, I do not understand."

"You watch him shuffle and he'll jab off your head," Vance said, repeating the old song lyrics. "Keep watching, I have a feeling that DiNozzo's winding up for his own sucker punch."

Vance knew the acting team leader could be impetuous and ill-considered but even if his interrogation technique was not exactly by the book, the director had seen first-hand that it generally brought results.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tony was on his feet, calmly pacing around the room.

"Scuttlebutt is that when you injured your hand you talked about retiring. Yet at the last minute, you made yourself available for team selection. Why the change of heart?"

"I believe I still have the gear to inflict some damage on All-Army in the championships."

"Finding yourself as the fifth man in a four man team must have been a hard pill to swallow for someone with your skill and…experience," Tony remarked.

"I missed the first week of trial bouts due to injury. The selectors believed that I might not have the fitness for a starting spot."

"So that leaves you as what? Orange boy? Holding the spit bucket?"

Mills' eyes narrowed in a steely intractable gaze.

"I am the first reserve," he said, drenching Tony with his disgust.

"Yeah, but you don't get a gig unless one of the other fighters withdraws, right?"

A second icy look outdid its predecessor and Tony knew that if looks could kill, he'd be coughing up dirt.

"Right?" Tony repeated when Mills remained silent.

"I suppose so," Mills finally growled through tightly clenched teeth.

"Suppose so?" Tony pushed. "You know so! And time was running out, wasn't it Chief? The armed forces tournament starts next week and you're still warming the bench."

"Are you suggesting that I had something to do with Livingstone's death?"

"What? No! I'm not suggesting that….I'm just saying that when the bell rings for the final round and you're behind on points, it's time to go for the knockout punch!"

"What?"

"Livingstone considered you as more than a mentor, he considered you a close friend. He felt so comfortable around you that he let down his guard and the night before he died, he told you his biggest secret. He told you that he was homosexual."

"He told me, so what? That doesn't mean I killed him!" Mills yelled.

"Was that what the argument was about Chief? What did he do, try to get you in a clinch? He hit you below the belt? Try to go a few rounds?"

"_You son of a bitch!"_ Mills bellowed as Tony continued to press.

"That's why you went to your CO and asked for a new billet? A three-year running Armed Forces welterweight champion couldn't stand the thought that he lost his title to someone who, out of the ring, spent more time floating like a butterfly than stinging like a bee."

"_That's not true!"_ Mills yelled launching out of his chair with his fists clenched so tightly that Tony half expected to hear the popping of dislocating knuckles.

Mills stared furiously at the agent, his expression fiercely forbidding. Meeting his glare, Tony leaned across the table, his face contorted into an angry mask that his colleagues in the observation room, barely recognised.

"Sit down," he said with a thinly veiled calmness that failed to hide the fury behind the words.

Mills reclaimed his seat and Tony continued.

"There's a lot at stake here, Mills, including a shot at the US boxing team in the 2012 Olympics. An Olympic gold medal would be a great way to end an illustrious career."

"I know what you're thinking but it wasn't like that."

"I think you threatened to 'out' him. I think you told Livingstone that if he didn't withdraw from the tournament, you'd go public about him being gay."

"_No!"_

"But being gay doesn't mean you're a pushover and Livingstone called you on it, didn't he? Told you to go to hell, so you had to think of something else. Wouldn't take much for a trained mechanic like you to interfere with the brake lines of his car."

"I didn't…"

"Of course, you wouldn't have known that Livingstone wasn't wearing a seatbelt or that you'd get caught on the wrong side of the landslide and have to make the call for help, right?"

Tony watched as the vein in the middle of Mills' forehead pulsated dangerously until finally, the heavy silence was broken.

"I want to speak to an attorney," Mills growled.

"You want an attorney? Be my guest," Tony said, placing his cell on the table in front of the Marine. "The JAG office is speed dial nine. But you should know, man, that once JAG's involved, I can't do anything to help you."

"Help me?"

"You tell me your side of the story, including tampering with Livingstone's brake lines, and I put in a good word about you co-operating with the investigation. But you make me watch what's on this security tape and all deals are off."

Mills fingered the cell phone, his gaze flicking from it to the security tape as he weighed his options.

"Go ahead," Tony continued. "Get yourself some young fresh-faced JAG defence attorney, right out of law school. But I'm telling you, the brass already have more than a passing interest in this case – they find out that Livingstone's brake lines were cut and they'll push for murder one. Me? I don't think you meant to kill the guy but hey, if you don't want to give me your side of the story that's fine."

Tony gathered the papers on the table and placed them back into the file.

"Take your time," Tony said. "I'll be back when I've watched the tape."

He reached for the security tape when Mills' caught him by the wrist and halted his movement. Tony's menacing glare was enough to make Mills release his grip.

"Okay," the Marine said resignedly. "Okay…I did it but I didn't mean to kill him…I just wanted to hurt him so he couldn't fight."

In the observation room, the director walked toward the door, then turned back to Ziva and McGee.

"Winner by unanimous points decision, Special Agent DiNozzo."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Mills waived his Article 31 rights and had given a full statement of his own volition. He was in deep conversation with his fresh-faced JAG defence attorney when, weary to the bone, Tony emerged from the interrogation room ninety minutes later.

As he rounded the partition to his desk he found his team still waiting for him and he slumped heavily into his chair.

"We're done for tonight," he said. "Tomorrow's Sunday. Enjoy your day off, see you Monday."

"You did well, Tony," Ziva said heaving her backpack over her shoulder. "Gibbs would be proud."

"Just doing my job, Ziva… no wait, I was just doing _his_ job!" Tony replied with more bitterness than he intended.

"Tony…"

The acting lead agent held up a hand in supplication.

"I'm tired," he said with a weary smile. "I didn't mean that."

Ziva nodded. "I know."

"Ziva's right though, Tony, you did good in there," McGee added as he stood in front of Tony's desk. "So tell me…that third security camera from the parking lot…what was on the tape?"

"Nothing," Tony said logging on to his computer. "It was disabled at the same time as the others but I was counting on Mills not knowing it was there."

With a put upon sigh that rose from her boots, Ziva reached into her pocket and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, handing it to a gloating McGee.

"We're going for Chinese, why don't you come with us? The moo shu's on me," McGee added waving the newly acquired fifty-dollar bill around.

"Nah…thanks anyway. I'm gonna check my email and get an early night. I'll see you Monday."

In the quiet of the bullpen, Tony skimmed his electronic mail, relieved to find nothing that needed his attention before next week. He leaned back in his chair, fatigued and emotionally drained and he urged his body not to shut down before he could get home.

As he reached to switch off his computer a muted tone announced the arrival of another email – Abby.

"_Don't forget your promise_." It read.

"How could I?" he whispered.

He dug the heels of his palms into his tired eyes, rubbing his eyeballs until a colourful lightshow decorated the inside of his eyelids. He turned his head and looked across to his boss' empty desk.

"Guess it's never too late for cowboy-style steak and a couple of beers, hey Boss?"

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

…'_Ahab is for ever Ahab, man. This whole act's immutably decreed. 'Twas rehearsed by thee and me a billion years before this ocean rolled. Fool! I am the Fates' lieutenant; I act under orders. Look thou, underling! that thou obeyest mine'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N Thanks again for your overwhelming support - I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. L**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N This story has a two-for-one deal! Bear with me as we start another investigation - this time, into Gibbs' whereabouts. L**

**From Hell's Heart**

**Chapter 5**

Gibbs' house was in darkness when Tony arrived and parked his car out front. He gathered the six-pack and steaks from the passenger seat, cleared the letterbox and picked up the newspaper from the lawn as he walked to the front door. He turned the handle and gave it a gentle nudge with his shoulder surprised to find it locked. Shifting the six-pack to the crook of his elbow he reached his hand into his back pocket, removed his keys and unlocked the door.

He was about to step inside when the edginess that had been dogging him for the past few days grew into full-blown paranoia. He placed the items on the ground, withdrew his Sig and cautiously entered the house. Quickly clearing every room - including the basement – he was both relieved and irritated not to find Gibbs at home and the yellow Challenger missing from the garage. He looked around at the unpretentiously furnished home and recalled the many times this house had been his haven when he had returned from a particularly difficult case or undercover mission with the horrors still snapping at his heels.

He pulled a beer from the six-pack and placed the rest in the fridge, depositing the steaks in the freezer for another night. His gaze fell upon the left over take-out from 'Picante Mexicano' Gibbs' favourite Mexican restaurant. The former Marine had developed quite a taste for Mexican food since spending his hiatus. Tony was fairly certain that the return of Gibbs' former partner and the leftover Mexican food were not unrelated.

Helping himself, he placed the enchiladas into the microwave, musing that he'd bought the appliance for Gibbs four years ago and had never once seen him use it. Waiting for his dinner to heat, he opened his beer and took a long pull. He crossed to the kitchen counter and checked the dates on the newspapers and unopened mail and determined that, wherever Gibbs was, he'd only been gone a day.

Tony glanced distractedly at the advertising leaflets he'd removed from the mailbox despite the "no junk mail" sign. He scanned the list of newly released movies being advertised by the local video store, making a mental note of those he wanted to see. Mama Rosa's Pizzeria was offering two large pizzas for the price of one; a new medical centre was opening at the small strip mall down the street and a small card with a weird picture, threatened the unrepentant with fire and brimstone.

The microwave sounded and he grabbed the food, juggling the hot plate as he moved into the living room. Balancing his dinner on his lap, he took a seat on the couch and a mouthful of enchiladas when the blinking light of the answering machine caught his eye and he pressed the play button.

There were four messages; two from Abby – her concern clearly evident in both messages. He gasped loudly and slammed his fist on the pause button as the sudden burning in his throat sent him back to the refrigerator at a dead run. Tearing a bottle from the shelf, he removed the lid and guzzled half a pint of milk.

"Habañeros," he rasped, chugging down more milk until the burning sensation passed. "Always forget the habañeros."

He ditched the remains of his meal and returned to the living room to play the rest of the messages. The next call was from Jackson; chuckling about someone called Madge Periwinkle who was keen to arrange a blind date for Gibbs and her spinster daughter, Ermatrude. Tony smiled at the sound of the older man's laughter and locked the name Ermatrude Periwinkle into his memory – ought to get some mileage out of that! He reached for his beer as the final message played…

"Hey, Probie, pick up! Ya know how much I hate these damn machines," ordered the gruff voice of Mike Franks.

There was a slight pause and Tony leaned closer to the machine as the message continued.

"Okay…well, it's over. We did what had to be done…we got our justice."

A loud click and the dial tone signalled the end of the call. Tony sagged wearily back against the threadbare cushions, forcefully expelling an exasperated breath. Once again, his inner pendulum swung from concern to anger.

"What the hell are you into, Boss?"

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

…'_Why the long face, Mr. Starbuck? Have you no game for Moby-Dick?' _

'_I have game for his crooked jaw. I have game for the jaws of death if that's part of the business we came for. Sir, I am here to hunt whale, not my commander's vengeance'... _

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tony didn't remember actually falling asleep on the couch but the crick in his neck and the stiffness in his lower back was painful confirmation of the less than comfortable sleeping apparatus. He peered at his watch in the muted light and saw it was zero four-thirty. With a loud groan and protest from his beleaguered muscles he got to his feet and headed for the bathroom to attend to business and wash his face.

He made himself a coffee and stood on the back deck watching as the red of the sunrise turned to the golden glow of early morning. Thinking back on Gibbs' unusual behaviour for the last week or so, he cast his mind back to the investigation before last and recalled being left to handle the case-breaking interrogation of Gunnery Sergeant Hughes. Nothing strange about that, except that Gibbs had left the building for five hours and no-one had known where he was.

Although Tony had felt the need to downplay the incident when McGee had raised it earlier, the timing coincided with Mike Franks' arrival in DC and Tony didn't believe in coincidences either. If he could find out where Gibbs had spent those five hours, it could shed some light on what the hell was going on. He poured the remains of the coffee down the sink, locked the front door behind him and headed into work.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

With a sigh that travelled all the way from his feet, Tony leaned forward in his chair, rubbing and flexing his lower back. As it was only zero six-fifteen on a Sunday morning, it was likely to be an hour or two before the he received replies to his calls and emails. Needing to work off some pent up anxiety he headed to the agency gym.

He returned ninety minutes later, freshly showered and dressed casually in jeans, t-shirt and a zip-up hoodie and stopped short at the sight of McGee sitting at his workstation.

"It's supposed to be your day off," he stated.

"I could say the same," McGee replied walking the short distance and placing a coffee on Tony's desk.

The acting lead agent raised an eyebrow at the offering.

"Isn't there a proverb warning of geeks bearing gifts?" he asked.

"It's _Greeks_ bearing gifts and this is not a gift – you bought coffee yesterday, so this is payback," McGee explained.

Tony nodded and lifted the lid from the Styrofoam cup, inhaling the strong aroma while ignoring McGee's scrutiny.

"Everything okay?" McGee asked. "I mean, it's your day off too, right?"

"What can I say? I love my job, I mean, who wouldn't like this job? Lousy hours, reams of paperwork, constant peril…"

"When are you gonna drop the act and talk to me?" McGee asked irritably.

Tony sighed audibly and looked at the younger man.

"You wanna talk, Probie? Talk. What's on your mind?"

"You really want to know?"

"Sure! We're partners, McGoo…if you're worried, I'm worried. When you hurt, I hurt. If you jump off a bridge…I'll miss you!"

"You're not fooling anyone, you know. I think you're in here because you're worried about Gibbs."

Tony huffed out a laugh.

"Gibbs is on leave. Why would I be worried about Gibbs when I could be worried… about something that…was not…Gibbs," Tony said with a frown as his words rang falsely in his own ears.

"Okay, how about we start with the call you made to AT&T," McGee said.

"What call?"

"Come on, Tony!" McGee snapped. "I made a call to Gibbs on Thursday afternoon - the day he was out of the office for five hours. This morning, you phoned AT&T and asked them to trace the cell tower that routed that call. Admit it; you're trying to find out where Gibbs went because you think he's in trouble."

Tony's demeanour changed in an instant and his green eyes flashed with indignation.

"You checking up on me, McGee?" he snapped stepping menacingly into McGee's personal space.

"I was _not_ checking up on you, Tony. Your desk phone was ringing when I came in and I answered it. It was a guy from AT&T returning your call," McGee replied. "If you'd just talk to me, I could have helped you with that."

"If you have a problem with the way I'm running this team, have the guts to tell me to my face!"

The two men squared off momentarily until McGee found his voice.

"For the record, I don't have a problem with how you're running this team."

"And off the record?"

"Off the record…I know that the boss has been shutting you out of whatever is going on with him but my problem is how you've been shutting me out. We're partners, too, Tony. _Trust me,_ tell me what's going on."

"I could not have said it better, McGee," Ziva said rounding the partition. "It is time, Tony, let us help."

"Oh, great, the gang's all here!" Tony said wearily. "I gave you the day off! Doesn't anyone listen to me anymore?"

"Not when it counts," McGee mocked with a wry smile.

Tony turned to Ziva.

"If you're gonna tell me you had nothing better to do than to come into the office on your only day off, I'm not buying."

"I, too, was worried about Gibbs. I called by your apartment to see if you wanted to…talk," Ziva explained. "That is when I noticed that you did not go home last night and I knew you would be here."

"Wait…" Tony said. "How do you know I didn't go home?"

"Because I-"

"You broke into my apartment!" he exclaimed. "How'd you know the code to my security system?"

"It is the same as the combination to your locker and your computer and IPhone passwords," Ziva answered unabashed.

"What if I'd been in the shower or, you know, with a woman?"

"I have seen you naked before," she said with a nonchalant shrug and without a trace of remorse. "If you had been with a woman, I would have been very discreet and waited quietly until you finished...doing…whatever you were…doing."

Tony leaned back into his chair and scrubbed his face with his hands. Despite his protests, he understood that his partners were asking for his trust – the very thing he felt Gibbs had denied them. They were telling him that he was not alone and whatever was going on, they wanted to help…and he felt compelled to let them.

He brought them up to date with what little he knew. He told them about the Mike Franks' arrival in DC and message on Gibbs' answering machine.

"So you think Franks is involved in whatever's going on?" McGee asked.

"Let's just say that recent history suggests that whenever Gibbs is up to his neck in crap, Mike Franks is involved somehow."

"I will check with Immigration and the airlines and see if Franks has gone back to Mexico," Ziva said.

Tony nodded. "Did AT&T give you the cell tower number?" he asked McGee.

"Just bringing it up on the plasma."

A map appeared with the cell tower highlighted in red and a shaded circle indicating the coverage area.

"Rockville? What was Gibbs doing in Rockville?" Tony wondered aloud.

"You know, the call you were tracing was from my cell. I can use that data to triangulate the signal and pinpoint an exact position."

"Do it."

"Just give me a minute," McGee replied as his fingers flew over the keyboard once more.

Tony groaned as he flexed his back and his muscles continued to protest the night spent on Gibbs' lumpy couch.

"Are you okay?" McGee asked.

"I'm fine, must've slept crooked or something, it's no big deal."

"I can help you with that," Ziva offered, suddenly materialising behind him.

"Ah…no…I don't think so," Tony laughed nervously. "I'll walk it off."

"Be a man, Tony, you are in pain, yes?" she said untucking the t-shirt from the back of his jeans.

"Hey!" he protested indignantly. "Perhaps you have forgotten, Zee-vah, that I am the man who survived the black plague, the man who has survived ten years of daily head slaps, a man with an unusually high tolerance to pain, a man who- _whoa, your hands are cold!"_

"Stand still, Superman," she ordered as she probed his lower spine with her fingers. "Hmm…"

"What?"

"I feel a little swelling in the muscle around your lower thoracic vertebrae - your T11 and T12 are out of alignment. I can fix this," she stated confidently.

"Oh, no, no, no, no. Nuh uh, never gonna happen."

"You would prefer to be in pain?" she asked pointedly, her hands balled on her hips.

"With all due respect, the thought of a former Mossad assassin, specially trained in torture techniques, messing with my backbone doesn't inspire a lot of confidence. What if you snap my spine?"

"The temptation is great but I will try to restrain myself," Ziva muttered.

"Come on, Tony, remember what you said earlier," McGee said. "We're partners, right? When you hurt, we hurt."

"Really?"

"Absolutely," McGee nodded. "You whine so much that we all suffer right along with you."

"You know, McChuckles, you're a regular yuk-fest today," Tony smiled wanly and turned back to Ziva. "You really know what you're doing?"

"I do."

"Because I'm sure there's a regulation somewhere that prohibits the snapping of a superior agent's spine."

"I will be careful…just relax," she said positioning her hands on his back.

McGee bit back a smile watching as trepidation, anxiousness and something akin to terror warred for position on Tony's face.

"Relax…okay, on three…one…_two!"_

Catching Tony off-guard Ziva used the heel of her hand to manipulate the vertebrae in his lower back and McGee's blood ran cold at the sound of the loud cracking noise. Tony's face was caught in a rictus of horror until finally he tentatively flexed his back from side to side. He flashed a relieved smile as he realised the action had provided immediate relief.

"Wow!" Tony said with unconcealed surprise. "That feels great."

Ziva took him gently by the chin and looked seductively into his eyes.

"These hands are capable of much more than torture," she replied before playfully sashaying back to her desk.

Tony cleared his throat loudly while McGee was suddenly fascinated with the skylight. Momentarily unable to think of a suitable retort, Tony returned his attention to the matter at hand.

"Probie, where are we?"

"Okay, when I called Gibbs' cell at approximately fourteen hundred hours on Thursday, he was at…the Rockville Cemetery."

The agents exchanged worried glances.

"Gibbs was attending a funeral?" Ziva asked.

"That would explain why he's been so distracted," McGee said. "But why wouldn't he just tell us?"

"Because he's Gibbs," Tony replied more harshly than he'd intended.

"There could be another reason," Ziva continued hesitantly.

"Go on."

"Mike Franks' phone message for Gibbs said, 'we did what had to be done…we got our justice,'" she said. "Perhaps someone had to die for that justice to be served."

Tony steeled his features but felt his heartbeat quicken at her words.

"Probie…"

"Checking on-line to see how many funeral services were held at Rockville Cemetery at approximately fourteen hundred on Thursday," McGee anticipated.

"Ziva…"

"According to Immigration, Mike Franks is still somewhere in the United States," Ziva confirmed. "Do you think he is with Gibbs?"

"My gut says he is," Tony said.

"Should we put a BOLO on Gibbs' vehicle?" Ziva asked.

"For what reason? We've got nothing concrete to go on."

"Then perhaps we should put an alert on Gibbs' accounts and credit cards," Ziva added. "At least if he uses them we will know he is okay."

"If he doesn't want to be found, he won't use them."

"What about Franks?"

Tony laughed humourlessly.

"That old dinosaur is probably still trading in tobacco and beaver pelts."

"I got it, Tony!" McGee said reading from his computer monitor. "There were three funerals held at Rockville Cemetery between the times of twelve hundred and fourteen thirty. Arthur Mundine, aged 73 and a retired bank clerk from Rockville; Mary-Ann Hennessy, aged 62, formerly from Aspen Hill. Rockville Cemetery has a military section and Thomas Phillips, aged 56, former Marine was buried with full military honours."

"That's got be the one. How'd he die?" Tony asked as McGee's fingers got to work again.

"According to his death certificate, he died of a heart attack," McGee advised.

"I'll need a copy of that."

"Coming right up," McGee replied.

Tony snatched the copy of the death certificate from the printer.

"We need a copy of his service record and a copy of Gibbs' and Franks'. I want to know any connection – no matter how remote. And get me to contact details for Phillips' next of kin," Tony headed to the stairs, then stopped suddenly and turned back to the team. "Also pull the service record of Marine corporal, Liam Michael O'Neill."

"Mike Franks' son?" McGee asked. "He's been dead for four years. You think this might have something to do with him?"

"I don't know, Probie, but if Gibbs and Franks have gone off the reservation I don't wanna leave any stone unturned," he said over his shoulder as he continued to walk to the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Ziva called.

"To see Ducky."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0 **

…'_Good-humoured, easy, and careless, he presided over his whaleboat as if the most deadly encounter were but a dinner, and his crew all invited guests. He was as particular about the comfortable arrangement of his part of the boat, as an old stage-driver is about the snugness of his box. When close to the whale, in the very death-lock of the fight, he handled his unpitying lance coolly and off-handedly as a whistling tinker his hammer. He would hum over his old rigadig tunes while flank and flank with the most exasperated monster.'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

Despite his years on the job, Autopsy had never been Tony's favourite part of the building and he liked it even less when the room was in darkness. There was just something about the place - Ducky called it sacred and ethereal, Abby called it ghostly and incorporeal but to Tony…it was just plain creepy.

He took a moment to glance across the cavernous room to the shining silver morgue drawers and wondered about the hundreds of bodies that had occupied them during his ten years at NCIS. Many were victims of crime, others had succumbed to their own kind of street justice and more than a few he'd put there himself. He turned to leave when his eyes lingered over drawer 107. Although the passage of time had softened the ache in his heart, he missed her as much today as the day Ari had taken her from them.

"Anthony?" Ducky called in a concerned tone as he flicked on the overhead lights.

Pulled from his thoughts, Tony turned quickly to face the elderly ME, unable to hide his surprise as the doctor stood before him, resplendent in dark knee length socks, a matching sweater, a Barnton cap and tartan plus fours.

"Whoa! You know, Doc, you've really gotta work on correcting your golf swing," Tony teased. "You've missed the fairway by about 20 miles!"

"There is nothing wrong with my swing, young man, as well you know," Ducky admonished good-naturedly. "However, it still escapes me how a former athlete like you can fail to grasp the finesse and intricacies of a game like golf. The members and guests of the Washington Golf and Country Club may never recover from your rather… energetic style."

"Guess I'm just a Happy Gilmore kind of a guy."

"Yes…quite," the doctor said, not sure how to reply. "Tell me, Anthony, has there been any word from Jethro?"

"Nothing. I called by his house last night but he wasn't there. We traced a call he got last week and we think he was at the funeral of a former Marine. That could explain why he was so…"

"Out of sorts?" Ducky suggested.

"I was gonna say pissed but…okay," the younger man shrugged. "Ducky, do you remember Gibbs ever mentioning a Thomas Phillips?"

Ducky's eyes narrowed in thought and he repeated the name softly as if saying it aloud would help him to recall.

"I'm afraid not, dear boy, but then again, until he was injured on that Turkish ship, I did not recall Jethro ever mentioning a wife and daughter either."

"According to his death certificate, the guy died last Monday from a heart attack. I thought you might know the doctor a…Harold Corkindale."

"Know him? As it happens I'm scheduled to tee off with Corky in about 30 minutes. I just came in to collect my pager," Ducky said. "Harold Corkindale…now there's a man who needs to work on his swing. I remember one day when we were playing the bottom nine at –"

"Ducky?" Tony interrupted. "Dr Corkindale signed the death certificate. I thought, maybe, you could find out something about Phillips' death without me having to wait until after the weekend."

"Anthony…I understand that as an investigator you are trained to not accept things as they appear but sadly, hundreds of people die as a result of heart failure every day. It is quite possible, that this poor fellow simply suffered a heart attack without any dubious or underhanded intervention."

"I know that, Ducky, but something set Gibbs off and my gut is telling me that this guy was involved somehow."

Ducky watched the younger man's determined face for a moment before responding.

"If there's one thing I've learned from working with Jethro, it's never to stand in the way of an investigator and their gut," Ducky said with a wry smile. "Let me see what I can find out, off the record of course."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

"Somebody talk to me," Tony said as he re-entered the bullpen. "McGee?"

"Thomas Charles Phillips, aged 56, formerly of Rockville, Maryland. He joined the Corps, did his boot camp at Parris Island and spent four years at Camp Lejeune where he served as an MP until a knee injury forced him into a desk job. He retrained as a supply administration and operations specialist. Due to a shortage of operation specialists, he volunteered for deployment to the Middle East in 1990 during Operation Desert Shield and was based at a large US military camp outside Doha, Kuwait. He achieved the rank of Master Sergeant and had an impeccable service record."

"Gibbs was an MP at Lejeune, they work together?"

"They were partners for two years until Phillips injured his knee and transferred to Supply and Gibbs was selected for special ops."

"Ziva?"

"In December 1991 Phillips was honourably discharged from the Marine Corps, moved to Rockville with his family and worked as operations manager for a large transport company until his death. His wife, Jillian and two grown children survive him. He has no police record, moderate savings and his banking records show no suspicious activity."

"You got an address?"

"Yes," Ziva replied.

"Good, you're with me," Tony said. "Probie, call Lejeune. By the time I get back I want the file of every arrest Phillips and Gibbs made while they were MP's together and any threats against either one of them."

"That's a big list," McGee said. "Some of those records may be restricted."

"I don't care how you get them, McGee, just get them," Tony ordered as he secured his Sig in his shoulder holster. "Use my name…and when that doesn't work, use Vance's. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

McGee's jaw hung open in silent protest as he watched his partners enter the elevator.

"They get a nice Sunday drive and I get stuck with the paperwork," he muttered. "I sure got the fuzzy end of that lollipop."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

As Tony and Ziva travelled to Rockville in the agency sedan, Ducky called to advise the outcome of his discussion with Dr Harold Corkindale. Three years ago, Tom Phillips had suffered a massive heart attack and the cardiologist had performed a quadruple heart bypass. Despite a poor prognosis, Phillips had defied the odds and had even returned to part-time work, although he had been under Dr Corkindale's care ever since.

On the day of Phillips' death, he had attended his scheduled three-monthly appointment with Dr Corkindale in Washington DC. Tests had revealed another major blockage and the cardiologist had urged Phillips to allow him to schedule surgery as soon as possible. However, Phillips had insisted on returning home to discuss the situation with his wife before committing to more surgery.

While waiting on the Red Line platform at Union Station, Phillips had suffered another heart attack and could not be revived. As he had been in his doctor's care only hours before, it was deemed that no autopsy was necessary.

Tony stopped the car at the kerb and he and Ziva looked at the small Rockville home with the well-kept garden and the American flag proudly displayed on the front porch.

"From what Ducky said, Mr Phillips' death was not suspicious," Ziva said. "I do not understand why we are here."

"Because something's not right," Tony answered. "Something else had to have happened. Gibbs doesn't just walk out in the middle of a case."

"Perhaps he was upset about the death of a good friend and needed to take some personal time," Ziva countered.

"You believe that?"

"No," she admitted. "Do you think that Thomas Phillips may have been murdered?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Tony stressed. "You know what Gibbs is like. No-one messes with his friends or his family and gets away with it."

"How do you intend to prove it? Phillips has been buried."

Tony sighed deeply and carded his long fingers through his hair.

"That's the tough part…we need Mrs Phillips to agree to exhume her husband's body."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0 **

Gibbs was cold. The dampness had risen from the concrete floor he was lying on and seeped through his clothes and into his bones. He hurt, but he didn't know why. His muddled brain urged him to move, to escape...but he didn't know to where or from whom.

He frowned at a strange sound, like hailstones hitting against a windowpane and he realised his teeth were chattering. He shivered again, the movement worsening the crippling pain in his head.

He tried to open his eyes, curious now as to where he was and realized he could open only one. He reached trembling fingers to the source of the searing pain near his right eye and found it swollen tightly shut and the side of his face caked in dried blood.

'_What the hell happened?_' he thought.

He tried to raise his body but the nauseating sensation that the earth was spinning beneath him was too great. Almost against his will, his aching muscles relaxed in the embrace of desperately needed rest and overwhelming fatigue seduced him into unguarded darkness.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

_"All men live enveloped in the whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life."_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N Can't thank you enough for your support and feedback. To those wondering about the hurt/comfort...hey, it's me! Stick around, it's coming! L**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Apologies for the delay - reality continues to mess with my life! Another long chapter - trying to move through the investigation as quickly as possible without taking shortcuts - this is a crime fic after all. :) God bless all those currently hunkered down on the east coast of America. Stay safe. L**

**From Hell's Heart**

**Chapter 6**

Tony rang the doorbell and stepped back to wait with Ziva. He took a couple of deep bracing breaths and shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. Conveying news of the death of a loved one was usually something he avoided whenever possible but he was about to ask a grief-stricken widow for permission to exhume her husband's body and the thought made him sick to his stomach.

Momentarily, a petite lady with short blonde hair opened the door and the agents introduced themselves. Sonya Martin had travelled from Bloomington, Illinois to attend the funeral of her brother-in-law. She was staying on with her sister, Jillian Phillips, for a few weeks. Sonya led the agents into the living room and returned moments later, pushing a wheelchair. Jillian Phillips was in her early fifties with intelligent brown eyes, high cheekbones and dark shoulder-length hair that framed her attractive face. Her left ankle was encased in a plaster cast, the result of a fall several weeks ago.

A tray with cake and freshly brewed coffee was prepared and placed on the small table before them, despite the agent's protests not to go to any trouble.

"Please, you'll be doing me a favour," Mrs Phillips smiled sadly. "The coffee was already brewing and our neighbours and friends have been delivering more food than we could possibly eat."

Sonya poured the coffee and then, lightly squeezing her sister's shoulder, she left the room.

"Excuse me if I come right to the point but why are you here and why is Jethro not with you?" Jillian Phillips asked.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband's relationship with Special Agent Gibbs," Tony replied.

"What's this all about? Is Jethro okay?"

"Special Agent Gibbs requested a leave of absence the day after your husband's funeral service," Ziva answered. "No one has seen or heard from him since."

"I admit that's unusual behaviour for Jethro but it's only been two days," Mrs Phillips replied. "Isn't it a little premature for him to be considered a missing person?"

"Ordinarily, yes. But events prior to his sudden departure have given us cause for concern," Ziva explained.

"Ma'am, outside of work, you were one of the last to see him before he left. We'd hoped that he might have told you of his plans."

Mrs Phillips shook her head.

"Jethro helped me with the funeral arrangements and was wonderfully supportive but he didn't say a word to me about taking leave," she said.

"We understand that Mr Phillips had known Gibbs a long time," Tony stated.

Mrs Phillips confirmed that her husband and Gibbs had met during their basic training at Parris Island. The first half of their military careers had taken similar paths, including their two-year partnership as MP's at Camp Lejeune. When their individual assignments separated them, they lost touch for several years and before teaming up again briefly during Desert Storm.

They had tried to reach Gibbs after the loss of his family but he had been so grief-stricken that he avoided everyone in his past, including his own father. Many years later, after her husband had heart surgery, Gibbs made contact with them and agreed to stay in touch. Every three months when Mrs Phillips travelled to Washington with her husband to see his cardiologist, they tried to meet Gibbs for dinner.

Due to her ankle injury, Jillian had been unable to join her husband for the trip to Washington last week and had insisted that he take the train. Tom made arrangements to have dinner with Gibbs; however, their plans fell through when the agent had to work a case.

"Jethro was dreadfully upset," she said, shaking her head. "He felt awful that he'd cancelled their dinner plans the night before Tom died."

"Mrs Phillips, before his death, did your husband seem concerned or worried about anything?" Tony asked.

"No more than usual, it wa-" Mrs Phillips stopped suddenly, her eyes widened in surprise. "Surely you can't think that Jethro's disappearance has anything to do with Tom's death? My husband had a heart attack!"

Tony set his jaw, reluctant to cause this woman more distress; then unflinchingly, he raised his eyes to meet hers.

"We don't know that for sure, ma'am, there was no autopsy."

"We didn't need one; he had just been with his doctor!" Mrs Phillips explained.

Another moment passed and anger turned to realisation and horror. "Are…are you telling me that you think Tom was murdered! That's insane!"

"Mrs Phillips," Ziva said calmly. "We do not know anything for certain other than your husband is dead and Agent Gibbs is missing."

"That doesn't mean that somebody murdered Tom!" she replied. "My husband was waiting on a crowded platform at Union Station. If he had been murdered, surely _someone _would have seen _something_!"

"Mrs Phillips, I know this is difficult but the only way to know for sure is to have your husband's body exhumed and an autopsy performed," Tony stated plainly.

"No!" Jillian Phillips said firmly.

"Believe me, Ma'am, I wouldn't ask if –"

"Agent DiNozzo, how long have you worked with Jethro?"

"Ten years, ma'am."

"Anyone who can last ten years with Jethro Gibbs has to be good at his job so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But you have told me _nothing_ to make me believe that Jethro's disappearance has _anything_ to do with my husband's death."

"If Gibbs' gut told him that your husband's death was suspicious, he'd do anything he could to find his killer," Tony stressed. "I'm no Leroy Jethro Gibbs but I _know_ him and my gut's telling me that he's in trouble and your husband's death is somehow involved."

Jillian Phillips was torn. She could see the desperation on the face of the man before her and she knew his concern was genuine but she had buried her husband just a few days ago. Could she disturb his resting place based on the gut feeling of a man she didn't know? What if he was wrong? Her eyes filled with tears as she struggled to maintain her composure.

"I'm sorry, Agent DiNozzo, I can't…I won't."

She turned her wheelchair to face the sideboard and took a moment to calm herself, then reached for a small framed photograph and handed it to Tony. He looked at the photo of two young Marines, fresh out of basic training, with wide grins and severe haircuts and one arm slung casually around the other's shoulders. Despite their youth and their carefree demeanour he had no trouble recognising his boss and Tom Phillips.

"Jethro Gibbs saved my husband's life twenty-five years ago. Tom and I had a wonderful marriage and two beautiful children because of what he did that day. I know Tom would want me to do anything I could to help Jethro but if you want me to agree to an exhumation order, you'll have to give more than hunches and feelings."

Tony nodded soberly and, defeated, he rose to his feet.

"I understand, Ma'am, thank you for your time," he said handing her his business card and biting back his disappointment. "If you think of anything that could be useful, please call me."

Closing the door behind them, they headed down the path toward the car.

"That went well," he said, his words thrumming with frustration

"The woman has just buried her husband, Tony. You cannot possibly expect her to-"

"_You think I enjoyed putting her through that?" _Tony snapped, his anger and guilt taking the Israeli by surprise.

"No, I do not," she said in a quiet voice.

They were almost at the car when Jillian Phillips called out to them.

"Wait, please! Agent DiNozzo? Agent David?"

They exchanged a hopeful glance and walked back to the house where Mrs Phillips sat in her wheelchair, her brow furrowed in thought.

"This may be nothing," she started hesitantly, "but you asked if anything unusual had happened prior to Tom's death."

"You remembered something?" Tony asked.

"Just before Tom's trip to Washington, I was feeling rather housebound in this chair and Tom and I decided we'd take a walk. When we rounded the corner on our way home, there was a man by our mailbox. I thought he was just delivering leaflets but when he saw us coming, he got into his car and drove away."

"Did you or your husband know this man?" Ziva asked.

"Tom said he didn't. He took the card from the mailbox and told me that the guy was some doomsday prophet preaching that the end of the world was coming," she explained, frowning again. "He seemed unsettled afterwards and I had the feeling that he was hiding something from me. When he never mentioned him again, I forgot all about it...until yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"The police in Washington sent me Tom's personal belongings. You know, his overnight bag and his wallet. I was checking his wallet for his driver's licence when I found the card from the mailbox - I couldn't understand why he'd kept it."

"Perhaps you were right," Ziva said. "Perhaps your husband knew the man who left it."

Mrs Phillips called to her sister who appeared a few moments later with the wallet. Nodding her thanks, she handed Tony a card depicting a grotesque-looking angel with large wings, brandishing a spear and standing menacingly over a Christian who was lying supine on the ground defending itself with a shield.

Ziva frowned, as Tony stood transfixed, staring at the card.

"Tony?"

"I've seen this before," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Where?"

"At Gibbs' house, last night. I thought it was…it was with the junk-mail," he replied as he quickly refocussed his thoughts. "Mrs Phillips, this could be the connection we've been looking for. I know this is difficult but exhumation and autopsy may be the only way to know whether your husband was murdered."

For a brief moment, Jillian Phillips struggled with her composure, pausing to force the quiver from her voice.

"There's something else you should know," she said. "Before the funeral service, we held a visitation for family and friends. I had Tom's body embalmed."

The words struck Tony like a blow as his hopes for answers and their investigation hit another dead end.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

…'_What the white whale was to Ahab, has been hinted; what, at times, he was to me, as yet remains unsaid.'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"Talk to me, Probie," Tony said, with one hand on his cell and one on the steering wheel.

"I called Lejeune for copies of Gibbs' and Phillips' arrest records…they weren't happy about having to dig back though their archived records for nearly thirty years, that's for sure."

"Tough. Check and see if-"

"Lejeune has a helo to the Pentagon that arrives daily at thirteen hundred. I managed to talk the Records Clerk into despatching what we need and it should be here…" McGee glanced at his watch, "within the next three hours."

"Did you find any-"

"I couldn't find any connection between Phillips and Franks or Phillips and Franks' son. As far as I can tell, they've never met."

"You know, Magoo, you're developing a very irritating habit of anticipating my orders and I really think you should stop it before I have to hurt you."

"I'll work on it, Tony," McGee grinned, recognising the backward compliment. "Where are you?"

"On our way to Gibbs' house. We're gonna need Abby, can you go pick her up?"

"Sure," McGee sighed. "But when she finds out we started looking for the boss without her, she'll be pissed as hell."

"Come on, Probie, we've been through this before! Are you a McMan or a McMouse? Go squeak to Abby, we'll see you in an hour."

Flashing a grin at Ziva, he ended the call and slipped his cell back into his pocket as he continued to guide the car toward Gibbs' home. The remainder of the trip was quiet as Tony struggled to keep his inner turmoil in check – was Gibbs in danger or had he joined forces with his old partner to inflict it? Either way, Gibbs had made a choice not to confide in him and that was a knife that cut deeply into the very core of Tony's soul.

A nagging thought flittered like a shadow along Tony's subconscious, moving slow enough to sense something was out of place but travelling too fast for him to grasp. But the nauseating roil of his stomach told him that he'd missed something…

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

Battle-honed senses shouted a warning even before he was properly awake. He lay gasping and shivering and fighting the remnants of whatever drug was still coursing through his system. Gibbs gradually became aware of two things; the nauseating throbbing of his head and the pain of ropes that bound his wrists and ankles so tightly he could barely feel his hands and feet.

Bile burned the back of his throat and he spat the taste from his mouth as he silently cursed the bout of vertigo. Realising his hands were bound in front of his body he raised them to his face and gently pressed tingling fingers to his throbbing cheek.

With his vision blurred and limited to his left eye he tried to make sense of his surroundings, knowing that wherever he was, he wasn't safe. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door being unlocked. He tensed as he listened to the key being turned and he closed his eyes to feign unconsciousness.

One...two...three steps and he was being pulled upwards and dragged towards the rear of what looked like a large storage facility. His body was slammed against a large metal support and as he fought to regain his breath, the ropes on his hand were cut free. Ineffectually, he struck out with his right fist only to have his arms cruelly wrenched behind him and chained and padlocked to the support. He struggled weakly, still suffering the effects of the drug and what felt like a serious concussion.

It took several minutes to identify the persistent buzzing noise in his head as his captor's voice. Desperately trying to identify the words, he only succeeded in increasing the pounding of his worsening headache. He struggled to track the figure silhouetted against the light streaming in from a nearby window. The man paced agitatedly back and forth repeating the same phrases over and over.

"Burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe. For the day of vengeance is in mine heart and the time of my redemption is come. Just as he did to me, so I am going to do to him. I shall repay to each one according to his acting."

Gibbs made a valiant effort to push back the blackness but an overwhelming wave of exhaustion crashed down on him like a ton of bricks and swept him into oblivion.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0 **

…"_The lightning flashes through my skull; mine eye-balls ache and ache; my whole beaten brain seems as beheaded, and rolling on some stunning ground."…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

McGee and Abby were already in the lab by the time Ziva and Tony arrived back at the Navy yard. The Israeli removed two evidence bags from her backpack; each containing the strange apocalyptic cards.

"One of these cards was found at Gibbs' home and the other was placed in Phillips' mailbox," she said. "We believe they may have been left by the same man."

"It's not much to go on," McGee said.

"No it's not," Tony agreed. "But we canvassed nearby homes at both locations and none of their neighbours remembers getting a card like this in their mailboxes. Gibbs and Phillips live thirty miles apart – whatever's going on, these cards have something to do with it."

Abby and McGee each picked up a card to examine it more closely.

"It's Abaddon!" they exclaimed simultaneously.

"Okay…first, who is Abaddon and second, you know this _how_?" Tony asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer to the second question.

"Abaddon is often identified as the Destroying Angel of the Apocalypse," Abby replied. "Or the king of the bottomless pit; Angel-prince of hell, the minister of death and author of havoc on earth."

"Nice guy," Tony stated.

"He's described as having women's hair, lion's teeth, locust's wings, and the tail of a scorpion."

"No wonder he's so pissy," Tony quipped.

"He's featured in several X-Box games and MMORPG's," McGee continued. "Abaddon Rising, Abaddon's Destruction, Ezekiel Abaddon-"

"I _love_ Ezekiel Abaddon!" Abby enthused to McGee. "Except I can never get past the ninth level without the chief demons of the underworld, you know, disemboweling me and throwing my lifeless corpse into the fiery abyss."

"Hmm…I think I can help you," McGee replied stroking his chin thoughtfully. "You need to mount your noble steed, Ruin, and when he charges-"

McGee's felt the sting of a head slap and turned to see the exasperation clearly visible on Tony's face.

"Sorry Boss, er, Tony," he said, shamefaced. "These cards are from the Abaddon Rising game and are available at any computer game retailer in the US."

"In the Hebrew scriptures, Abaddon means place of destruction, or the realm of the dead," Ziva explained. "It is a place of darkness to which all dead go regardless of the moral choices made in life and where they are "removed from the light of God."

Tony turned the cards over and read the quotations on the back.

"Upon the wicked He will rain snares; fire and brimstone and burning wind will be the portion of their cup." He looked up at his teammates. "That's from the book of Psalms 11:6."

"I did not know you were religious, Tony," Ziva stated.

"Well, Ziva, that just goes to show that as our resident spy, you need to lift your game. We are federal agents, crime scene investigators and people depend on us to have a wide variety of general knowledge. Besides," he shrugged, "it says right here in fine print 'from the book of Psalms 11:6."

He tried not to wince as she punched him in the shoulder.

"Both of the cards mention punishment and fire and brimstone," McGee said. "You think whoever left them used them as a threat against Gibbs and Phillips?"

"The feeling in my gut says yes," Tony replied. "Of course, that feeling could also be the habañeros I ate last night. Look, all we know is that Phillips died and Gibbs went off grid within days of receiving one of these cards."

Abby's vision blurred as tears crowded into her eyes. She refused to let them escape, but could not blink them completely away.

"Tony, do you think that Gibbs-"

"I don't know, Abs," he said somberly. "But I need you to run the cards for fingerprints and anything else you can find."

"How can you be so calm about this?" Abby asked anxiously. "I mean, Gibbs could be in danger, he could be hurt or…or worse!"

"For all we know he and Franks could've taken a road trip to DisneyWorld! Besides, I pride myself on my ability to stay calm in a crisis, cool in a catastrophe, collected in a calamity," Tony said receiving skeptical looks from his teammates. "Okay, so it doesn't always work, but when it does, I pride myself on it."

Once again, Tony reverted to humour in an attempt to hide his concern but Abby, Ziva and McGee could see that the cracks were beginning to show.

McGee's cell shrilled loudly in the quiet laboratory.

"The archived records have arrived from Lejeune," he said to Tony.

"You and Ziva start checking the files and contact Metro Security at Union Station - if there's any CCTV footage of the platform from the day Phillips died, I want to see it."

"On it," McGee replied as he and Ziva left for the bullpen.

"Tony?" Abby released a hybrid sob and Tony drew her into a firm hug and simply held her - needing to comfort as much as he needed to be comforted.

"We'll find him, Abs," he promised, realising that Gibbs had now become _his_ white whale.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

…"_I'll follow him around the Horn, and around the Norway maelstrom, and around perdition's flames before I give him up."…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

Tony entered the elevator and waited until it began to ascend before flicking the emergency stop switch. He took several deep breaths, attempting to quell the turbulent mixed emotions that were building inside of him.

"Get a grip, Anthony," he told himself quietly. "Remember… calm in a crisis, cool in a catastrophe, collected in a calamity."

He dug his cell from the pocket of his hoodie and pressed the speed dial.

"How was the golf?" he asked when the ME answered his home phone.

"Splendid! With the notable exception of the 17th hole," Ducky replied with a chuckle. "For some reason it always seems to have my measure. Tell me, my boy, have there been any developments regarding Jethro's whereabouts?"

"Nothing yet."

"Then I will hazard a guess that you are calling to discuss something more serious than my continuing battle with that wretched sand trap. Do we have a new case?"

Tony's sigh travelled down the phone line.

"Anthony?"

"No, Ducky, no case…I need to ask…I was wondering…"

"What is it, my boy?" Ducky asked.

"How accurate are the results of an autopsy on a body that's been embalmed?"

"I take it that you are referring to Jethro's friend Thomas Phillips," Ducky stated. "Really, Anthony, I know that you are anxious to locate Jethro but I…"

"Something's wrong, Ducky, I think Gibbs is in trouble. He and Phillips both received a card with some kind of angel of death symbol and now Phillips is dead and Gibbs is missing."

"Are you sure that you aren't grasping at straws, my boy? Mr Phillips was in a very public location and in broad daylight when he collapsed. To my knowledge there were no reports of anything sinister occurring in the preceding moments."

"Phillips' blood was never tested for toxic substances. Everyone assumed his death was due to heart failure," Tony said. "Ducky, _please_, is an autopsy possible after embalmment?"

"A reliable toxicology examination would prove very difficult," Ducky replied. "In fact, it would be almost impossible to detect any kind of toxin in the tissue."

"Almost…you saying we could still get a blood tox?"

"The embalming preservative has often hampered the efforts of toxicologists. However, in embalmed bodies, the best tissue specimen may be from skeletal muscle from the buttock."

"The tush?"

"Indeed. Bodies are normally embalmed while lying on their backs," Ducky explained. "Pressure related to compression of tissue in the…tush, as you call it, restricts the embalming fluid enterring the posterior area. A tissue sample from the buttock may tell us whether or not a toxic substance was involved."

"Huh, Gibbs always told me I'd be talking through my ass long after I'm dead...maybe he was on to something."

"If the mere presence of drugs or chemicals is important," Ducky continued", "the inner lining of the eyes and the urinary bladder can be swabbed with a clean cotton-tip and analyzed. Even though there may be no fluid remaining dried drug residue can still be collected."

"Thanks, Doc, that helps a lot."

"Anthony…I'm certain that I don't need to tell you of the high regard in which I hold the dearly departed," Ducky said sombrely. "I understand how concerned you are about Jethro but surely you realise that without solid evidence of foul play, no court will order an exhumation. Please, Anthony, before you make arrangements to disturb this poor man's resting place, ensure that you have exhausted all other avenues."

"Last resort, Ducky, you have my word," Tony replied. "Sorry to bother you on your day off."

"What would bother me more, my boy, would be for you to need my help and not ask for it."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0 **

Returning to the bullpen, Tony huffed out a long sigh at the sight of six archive-boxes piled next to Gibbs' empty desk. The boxes contained Gibbs' and Phillips' arrest records during the time they served as MP's at Camp Lejeune. Working as quickly as they were able, the team sorted the files into various piles from the more serious crimes that carried lengthy jail terms to the lesser indiscretions that warranted non-judicial punishment.

They excluded those where the perpetrators had re-offended and were still incarcerated and others where, for whatever reason, the felons were now deceased. This left just two people who had served terms in excess of twenty-five years and been released from the federal penitentiary within the last two years.

"Check them out," Tony instructed Ziva. "I want to know where they were when Phillips died. If they where with 20 miles of Union Station or they don't have an alibi drag their asses in here. In fact, bring them in even if they do have an alibi!"

"McGee!"

"Check out the CCTV footage of Union Station for signs of anything suspicious at the time of Phillips' death," McGee replied.

"You're doing it again, Magoo," Tony said.

"Doing what?"

"Anticipating my orders…I warned you and now I'm gonna have to hurt you."

"You can't hurt me, Tony. You're acting team leader - it's against regulations."

"That's right…Ziva!"

"Yes, Tony," she replied crisply.

"Shoot McGee."

"I will not."

"You're right, too noisy…use your ninja skills and snap his neck like a wish-bone - do it quietly."

The younger agents rolled their eyes heavenward and tried to hide their amusement but Tony noted with satisfaction that their heads lifted and their body language relaxed. Despite the fact that the tactic often placed him on the receiving end of a glancing head slap, Tony frequently employed humour to ease the tension in the bullpen. He gave himself a mental head slap and returned his attention to the matter at hand.

"I'll be with Abby," he said striding toward the elevator.

Entering the forensics lab, Tony veered toward the refrigeration unit and swiped a carton of Caf-Pow from the top shelf. Swinging back passed the sound system, he turned the deafening music down and stopped by Abby's side.

"Whatcha got, Abs?" he asked. "Anything on the calling cards from our angel of death?"

"The only fingerprints on the cards belonged to Tom Phillips, Gibbs and you," Abby replied. "Our angel of death was smart enough to wear gloves."

"Because that would have been way too easy," Tony sighed and turned for the exit.

"Wait, Tony! I'm not done yet! I did find something a little hinky – a trace of a chemical on both cards that wouldn't normally be there." Abby took a deep breath. "As you probably know-"

"I probably don't, but go on," he interrupted.

"Diethyl phthalate, or DEP as it's more commonly known, is a phthalateester, namely the diethyl ester of phthalic acid."

Tony's eyebrows rose toward his hairline.

"You _really_ thought that I'd know that?" he asked.

"Actually, no…I was just being polite," Abby replied. "I love you like a brother, Tony, and you have many talents but analytical chemistry isn't one of them."

"I live with the shame," Tony quipped, flashing a quick smile then returning to business. "So what about this diet-fore-it's-too-late, stuff?"

"Diethyl phthalate," she corrected.

"You say potato…" Tony shrugged, making a circular motion with his hand for her to continue.

"It is a clear substance that is liquid at room temperature. It has a faint, disagreeable odor and when burned, DEP produces toxic gases."

"What's it used for?" Tony said, snapping on a latex glove he looked more closely at the card and took a quick whiff.

"It's usually found in solvents or industrial cleaning fluids. There's been several studies regarding toxicity to humans and the suggestion that DEP can cause damage to the nervous system as well as to the reproductive organs in males and females."

Tony dropped the card onto the workbench like it had burned his fingers.

"It's quite safe, Tony, there's not nearly enough DEP on the card to cause any harm."

"If it's all the same to you, Abs, my boys and I would rather not take the chance," he replied with a grimace.

"Anyway, DEP is not found in household cleaning products so our Abaddon-wannabe would have to come into contact with it at work – maybe a in chemical factory or any other factory that uses industrial strength solvents or cleansers."

"That narrows it down to entire tri-state industrial area," Tony groaned.

"Maybe not," Abby replied. "Major Mass Spec is on the case! If he can isolate a taggant or a signature in the sample, we may be able to identify the manufacturer."

"Let me know," Tony said, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on her pale cheek before leaving the lab.

With a mischievous grin, Abby turned to look expectantly at the door. She counted backwards from five, reaching zero just as Tony ducked his head back in the door.

"Abs?"

"Not nearly enough DEP on the card to cause any harm," she assured him.

"Future generations of DiNozzos thank you," he said before disappearing again.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"Where the hell are you, Boss?" Tony muttered as he leaned against the wall of the elevator.

Pressing the heels of his palms against his closed eyes and let out a vicious curse. He was more than a little pissed that after ten years as Gibbs' partner, he still occasionally found himself on the outside looking in.

After the debacle with his previous partner, Danny Price, Tony had doubted his ability to trust again. To his surprise he'd found, under the gruff, no-nonsense exterior, Jethro Gibbs was a supervisor he could respect and a partner he could trust with his life. So, why was it that when push came to shove, that respect and trust was not returned? As the elevator glided to a halt and the doors slid open, he ruthlessly shoved his anger aside and attempted an air of professional detachment.

"Campfire," he announced, dragging his chair to the centre of the bullpen and waiting until the others were seated. "Where are we with the files?"

Ziva sighed audibly and pointed the remote toward the plasma, displaying the images of two men.

"There are only two men arrested by Gibbs and Phillips, who served terms longer than twenty-five years. Both were released within the last eighteen months. Gary Munro is no longer on parole and has moved to California."

"Could have hopped a flight. You check his alibi?"

"At the time Phillips was killed, Munro was having his appendix removed at Dameron Hospital in Stockton, California."

"Damn, what about the other guy?"

"Kelvin Irvine was injured in a motor vehicle accident last year and is confined to a wheelchair," she replied wearily. "We are running out of suspects."

"Magoo, give me something," Tony almost pleaded.

"The CCTV footage from Union Station was dark and grainy. I cleaned it up some and transferred it to a disk but to get a clearer picture I'll need to work on it in Abby's lab," McGee replied.

"Show me what you got."

Taking the remote from Ziva, McGee transferred the image from his computer monitor to the large plasma screen and pressed play. Leaning forward in their chairs, the agents focussed their gaze on the image, desperate for any clue.

They watched as Tom Phillips came into view, standing at the front of a small group of other commuters on the train platform. The time stamp indicated that several minutes had passed when another male commuter arrived at the back of the group and slowly worked his way between the waiting people until he stood directly behind Phillips.

As the train arrived and slowed to a stop, the group moved closer together and cautiously made their way toward the edge of the platform. They separated to allow alighting passengers to clear the carriage.

The man standing behind Phillips suddenly turned and pushed his way hurriedly back through crowd, evoking scowls from other commuters. Phillips turned, his eyes widened with a mixture of pain and fear as he clutched chest, staggered and fell to the ground.

"Take it back, Probie, let's see it again," Tony said.

McGee rewound that section of the footage and replayed it several times.

"Hold it there," Tony added. "What's that guy doing?"

"Perhaps he realised he was on the wrong platform," Ziva suggested.

"No, something just happened," Tony replied. "Play it again, McSam, frame by frame."

They watched the scene again, concentrating on every frame.

"There!" Tony said. "You see that? Phillips seemed to flinch just as that guy starts to leave."

"You think that guy injected him with something?" McGee asked.

"That's exactly what I think," Tony said. "Play the next bit."

They watched as Phillips looked back at the departing man with a look of surprised recollection and then horror.

"You are right, Tony," Ziva stated. "Phillips knew him. That man could be our Abaddon."

McGee zoomed in but was unable to get a clear shot of the man's face.

"Give me the disk," Tony instructed. "Make another copy and get it up to the lab. If you can clean up the image, Abby can run a facial recognition against the rest of these files."

"On it," McGee replied.

"Ziva, see if Metro Security got the names of people standing with Phillips when he collapsed. Call them, see if anyone remembers anything or if they can provide a description."

"They would have already been questioned by Metro Security, yes?"

"You question them, maybe Metro missed something."

"Where will you be?"

"Interrupting the director's day of rest," he replied over his shoulder.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

…_'Whosoever of ye raises me a white-headed whale with a wrinkled brow and a crooked jaw; whosoever of ye raises me that white-headed whale, with three holes punctured in his starboard fluke- look you, whosoever of ye raises me that same white whale, he shall have this gold ounce, my boys!'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N Whew, condensed three chapters into one to get through that quickly for you. Bit more investigation to come but next chapter will bring the big breakthough - then it's Tony/Gibbs hurt/comfort all the way home! Thank you for all your support and reviews - all received with overwhelming gratitude. L**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:- This chapter all but wraps up the crime investigation aspect with the majority of the how, who, what, where and why questions are answered. I hope you enjoy it, L**

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.**

**From Hell's Heart**

**Chapter Seven**

Jackie Vance showed Tony into her husband's study before hurrying out to the living room to fetch him. Alone in the stylishly decorated room, a wall of photos caught Tony's attention and he walked over to examine them more closely.

Most were family photos but images of Vance's college and sporting achievements hung prominently. A guffaw burst from Tony's lips when he spied the director's college graduation photo - a very young Vance sporting an Afro the Jackson 5 would have envied.

"Something funny, DiNozzo?" Vance's voice reached out from behind.

Hopelessly caught out, Tony pirouetted quickly his shoulder knocking several photo frames askew.

"No, Sir, nothing's remotely funny, just…a bit of a cough…Sir."

Vance lifted a quizzical eyebrow then stepped forward to straighten the frames, pausing to glance at the graduation photo.

"You should have seen me during my Bob Marley phase," he quipped. "Jackie hated the dreads."

Tony laughed at the mental image and then sobered at the director's quelling glance. He executed a comical double take when he saw a photo of Vance and Jackie standing with a young basketball player.

"That Len Bias?" Tony asked, his eyes widened with something akin to admiration.

Vance nodded his head sadly.

"That was taken the night I met Jackie. Bias was playing for UMD and posed for a photo," Vance told him. "Damn tragedy. He was one of the greatest players not to play at the professional level."

Vance gestured Tony to take a seat on the couch while he perched against his desk.

"What brings you to my home on a Sunday evening?" he asked. "You and your team are supposed to be off the clock."

Tony told the director of his concerns for Gibbs and the details of their unofficial investigation. Vance placed the DVD in the player and replayed the footage of Phillips' collapse at Union Station several times.

"I agree that Phillips' death appears suspicious and these so-called angel of death cards appear to be a connection but what evidence do you have that Gibbs isn't off somewhere with Mike Franks?"

"Only my gut," Tony replied.

"Not a great confidence booster," Vance said with the barest hint of a smile. "You once told me that sometimes your gut just sucks."

"And sometimes it's the habañeros," Tony conceded with a shrug. "Look, Director, I can't tell you where Gibbs is or whether he's the hunter or the hunted- I just _know_ that he's into something and we've gotta find him, _fast. _As for Phillips, if you ask me was he murdered I'd say damn right he was - but the only way we're gonna know for sure is if we exhume the body and do an autopsy._"_

The director's silent contemplation seemed interminable as Tony waited for his response.

"I agree."

"You do? I mean, of course. Thank you, Sir."

"However, you understand that you're asking me to authorise the exhumation of former Marine whose death does not fall under NCIS purview."

"Unless it's involved in the investigation of the disappearance of one of our agents," Tony added.

"You haven't proved that yet," Vance stated.

"I'm right, I know it!" Tony said determinedly.

"Knowing it's not enough. You're going to need to get the authorisation of the deceased's next of kin and that won't be easy."

"Already have it," Tony replied. "I called Mrs Phillips from the car and told her about the CCTV footage. She agreed to the exhumation of her husband's body. She's sending written confirmation."

Vance cast his gaze over the younger man and caught a glimpse of the concern he was barely holding at bay for his team leader and mentor.

"I'll make some calls, get the ball rolling on the affidavit and arrange a Marine guard of honour. You contact Mallard and Palmer to collect the body from the cemetery.

"Thank you, Sir."

"You better have your own affairs in order," Vance said. "Because if we exhume Phillips' remains and you're wrong, Gibbs will bury both of us."

"I hear that," Tony said rising to his feet. "Sorry to interrupt your evening, Sir, I'll see myself out."

Vance nodded and watched as his acting lead agent strode quickly toward the door.

"DiNozzo," he called. "Keep me informed."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tony returned to the Navy yard and felt the tension, aggravation and weariness emanating in waves from his teammates. He rounded the partition to find Gibbs desk occupied by a forensic scientist who had left her lab in search of companionship and was holding herself together by a gossamer thread.

"What have we got?" he asked, dumping his backpack behind his desk.

"Only three people who witnessed Phillips' death at the train station, gave their names and contact details to Metro Security," Ziva said. "I have contacted all three but no one could provide any additional information helpful to the case."

Tony nodded and turned to McGee.

"You get anything on the tape?"

"Abby and I were able to clean up the image but not enough to do an accurate facial recognition," McGee answered, indicating the plasma screen as the image of a man with thick glasses, pasty white skin, red curly hair and a bushy beard appeared.

"Sheesh! I never forget a face but in his case I'm prepared to make an exception," Tony said launching into one of many impersonations in his repertoire.

"Humphrey Bogart?" McGee asked.

"What's the matter with you?" Tony scowled. "That was Groucho Marx."

"Really?" McGee said, scrunching his face. "Needs work."

"Well…you kinda have to imagine the glasses and the moustache," Tony explained apologetically.

"Of course," McGee nodded.

"Abs?" Tony said, wrapping an arm around her slender shoulders and pointing to the plasma. "Why can't we get a facial rec on Hagar the Horrible?"

"The facial recognition system isn't foolproof, Tony; it doesn't work well in poor lighting or on low resolution images. And when the subject is wearing glasses or has a beard or when other objects partially cover their face it, like, totally messes with the accuracy of the program."

"Despite the low odds, we ran the program against all the files Phillips and Gibbs worked together or singularly while they were MPs. Plus the entire Camp Lejeune service records during the years they were assigned there," McGee added.

"That's good," Tony said.

"And we ran it against DMV records in the tri-state area and North Carolina."

"That's good."

"We didn't get a single hit."

"That's…not good," Tony replied. "So to surmise, we don't know _who_ this guy is, _where_ he is or have _any_ idea of his motives."

"We have widened our search of DMV records to all eastern states but with the poor quality of the photo we do not hold out much hope of success," Ziva added. "There are no updates on our BOLO on Gibbs' car, he has not accessed his banking accounts and Immigration believes Franks has not yet left the country."

"Dammit! We've been going at this all day and we've got squat," Tony yelled unable to stop his pent up frustration from bubbling to the surface.

He turned his head to find his teammates watching him, waiting for his instruction and he knew this was no time to lose his temper.

"What do you want us to do?" McGee asked calmly.

Tony swallowed the urge to shrug his shoulders and yell _'How the hell do I know?'_ He done his best, they all had, but he couldn't shirk the feeling that he had missed something…something he'd seen or heard but not recognised…something that could break this case wide open.

He corded long fingers through his hair, drew a deep breath and regained his composure with its slow expulsion.

"Go home, all of you. Eat something; go for a run, whatever it takes to blow out the cobwebs," Tony held up his index finger to halt the rebuttal. "Phillips' body will be exhumed at dawn tomorrow; we'll meet here right after."

"Then what?" McGee asked.

"Then we do what Gibbs taught us to do," he replied. "We re-work the clues and we re-trace the leads until something breaks. We stay the course."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

…'_Long days and nights we strained at the oars while a white whale swam freely on, widening the waters between himself and Ahab's vengeance.'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0 **

Gritting his teeth against the pounding in his head and the nauseating sensation that the earth was spinning beneath him, Gibbs cracked open his only functional eye and looked around the warehouse. He'd lost all sense of time. Shattered images returned like shadows flickering along the edge of his subconscious. His headache caused his vision to lose focus as his brain chased the disturbing, disjointed memories.

_Arrangements to have dinner with his old friend, Tom Phillips, had been made and suddenly cancelled. The next day, Tom was dead. He remembered calls to and from Mike Franks, attending a funeral, being pissed as hell at DiNozzo and a Marine killed in an MVA._

He took a few deep breaths and sighed as the pain receded enough to allow him to begin to think straight. He didn't know how long he'd lain in this cold prison, knowing nothing but pain and gasping breaths but finally the red mist before his eyes cleared and he recalled why he was there.

"Adams," he croaked, barely recognising his own voice.

He hissed as a blinding flash of light emanated from the florescent globe overhead, creating a strobe effect that burned behind hastily his closed lids.

"Welcome back, Gunny," the man said. "I was worried that I'd hit you too hard. You see, I have your death carefully planned…just like your friend Tom Phillips."

"You killed Tom?" Gibbs rasped, through cracked lips.

"I did!" Adams replied with a flash of deranged joy in his eyes and a maniacal laugh that chilled Gibbs to the bone. "And soon it will be your turn."

"You got a fair trial, Adams," Gibbs stated. "A lot of people died because of you."

In an instant Adams' face twisted in demented fury and he leapt forward to wrap both hands around Gibbs' throat.

"_What about the people __**you**__ killed?"_ he screamed. _"You killed my family! My wife and son are dead and their blood is on your hands!__"_

With his hands bound behind his back, Gibbs could do nothing to defend himself. He pitched and rolled, trying to dislodge the man's grip as his lungs strained for oxygen and waves of agony vibrated through his head. Adams' face was red with anger and spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled incoherent obscenities.

Then, suddenly, it was over. Adams tore his hands from Gibbs' throat and staggered to his feet standing menacingly over him.

"Not now," he seethed, with a crazed expression in his eyes. "Not like this. For the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night forever and ever. It is mine to avenge; I will repay. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them. It will soon be your time to die, Gunny, and it will be by my hand."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

…'_Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing. When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some still subtler form. __There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness'…. _

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Dressed in a dark charcoal Ermenegildo Zegna suit, a crisp white Dolce & Gabbana shirt and Gucci tie and shoes, Tony stood sombrely by Ducky and Palmer at Tom Phillips' graveside.

It was eerily quiet in the early hour; the night sky had just surrendered to the new day as it advanced its column of westward-marching pale blue. The silence was broken by incisive drill commands as the Marine Honour Guard made its way in perfect synchronicity to the side of the grave.

As the cemetery workers began to unseal the grave and recover the coffin, Tony's gaze was on the young Marines, resplendent in their dress blues and standing rigidly at attention. His mind drifted back to his early days at NCIS when, armed with a pizza and six pack, he and Gibbs sat down to watch a game of football. The pre-game entertainment featured the Marine Silent Drill platoon.

"_I'll say something for the Marines, Boss, they've got the coolest threads in the military." _

"_They're not threads, DiNozzo, they're dress blues and it's a privilege and honour to wear them."_

"_Well…yeah, but I mean," Tony paused to swallow a mouthful of pizza, "you can forget Armani, the minute you step out wearing that get-up, you turn into a walking chick magnet."_

_The casual head slap was swift and not entirely unexpected but it was the rigid posture and the reflective look in the older man's eyes as he watched the precision of the Marine rifle drills, which caught Tony's attention._

"_The dress blues represent a proud legacy of Marines who have served for more than two centuries," Gibbs explained calmly, his gaze never leaving the TV. "__The eagle and the anchor on the buttons have been on the uniform since 1804 - the oldest military insignia in continued use. The "blood stripe" runs down each trouser leg to honour the memory of fallen comrades while the collar reflects the original Marine uniform of the American Revolution, which had a high leather neck to protect from sword blows. Because of what it represents every Marine wears the dress blues with pride."_

_Both men sat silently reflecting on Gibbs' words as the Marines left the field of play, marching in precise formation. Tony picked up his beer bottle from the table and extended it in Gibbs' direction. _

"_Yeah, but it still attracted the ladies, right?" he asked._

"_Damn straight," Gibbs said, clinking his bottle against Tony's in a silent toast._

Tony watched as two Marines stepped forward, respectfully draping the American flag over the coffin. As the other Marines fell into formation, they lifted and carried the coffin to the waiting NCIS coroner's van for transportation back to the Navy yard.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

After checking in with McGee and Ziva who were painstakingly retracing the steps of the investigation, Tony entered the autopsy room and was surprised to find that Ducky and Palmer had not yet begun the autopsy on Tom Phillips.

"Something wrong, Ducky?" Tony asked.

Ducky explained that he had extracted a tissue sample from the skeletal muscle of Phillips' buttocks and swabbed the inner lining of the eyes for dried drug residue before sending both samples to Abby for testing. As the body had been embalmed he was doubtful that the usual invasive autopsy procedures would shed any further light on the cause of death.

A large scar from previous open-heart surgery ran the length of Phillips' sternum while a smaller scar in the groin coincided with the medical records that Phillips had also undergone a cardiac catheterisation.

"Cardiac catheterisation allows the cardiologist to identify the location and degree of any blockages to the coronary arteries in quite a non-intrusive way," Ducky explained. "Under local anaesthetic, the cardiologist can access the coronary arteries by inserting a long, thin tube into a blood vessel from the groin."

"This just goes to prove that the way to a man's heart really is through his groin." Jimmy Palmer chuckled at his own joke until a stern glance from Ducky brought him up short. "I'm sorry that was very inappropriate."

"Mister Palmer," Ducky said wearily, "In times like this, only you can give me what I really need."

"Really, Doctor," his young assistant replied hopefully. "What do you need?"

"Your absence," Ducky replied tersely before dismissing the younger man to the far end of the large room.

Tony produced the disc of Phillips' collapse at the train station and played it on Ducky's computer several times.

"I think the other guy injected something into Phillips, something that brought on the heart attack," he said.

"The injection was very fast," Ducky remarked. "Too fast for a syringe."

"What about an insulin pen?" Jimmy suggested from his place of banishment. "I use an insulin jet injector. The injection is completed in around 300 milliseconds."

"Yes," Ducky agreed, waking back to the body. "Yes that could be it. Mister Palmer, help me roll the body."

Swiping a magnifying glass from a nearby tray, Ducky carefully examined the area at the back of Phillips' thighs, finding an injection site in a position almost impossible for the victim to reach himself.

"I'm afraid you were right, Anthony," Ducky said. "I believe this man may have been murdered."

Tony slammed his fist against on the metal table top.

"_Gibbs you sonofabitch!" _he seethed through tightly clenched teeth.

"Perhaps, Jethro didn't suspect," Ducky defended.

"Of course he suspected…he's Gibbs! He shut me out again, Ducky!"

The ME's watched as Tony stormed furiously out of the room.

"Oh my," Ducky said quietly.

"Do you think Tony's right, Doctor? Do you think Agent Gibbs suspected his friend was murdered and went after the killer?"

Ducky sighed heavily.

"Yes, Mister Palmer, I'm afraid that's exactly what I think."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

Tony headed for the forensics lab, quickly eating up the distance with each angry stride.

"_I could have helped you, you stubborn bastard,' he thought. 'Why couldn't you trust me?'_

Once the thought had started on its way again it began to build momentum and he couldn't derail it. Gibbs didn't trust him or could it be that despite their closeness and Tony's undisputed loyalty, Gibbs knew the younger man was unwilling to throw all caution to the wind to follow him on some lawless crusade. No…for that he'd always turned to Mike Franks.

He closed his eyes, swallowed audibly and put on his game face as he walked into the lab in time to hear Abby praising her babies for their fast results.

The tissue sample and residue from Phillips' eyes had tested positive for potassium hydroxide. The chemical was generally used as a drain cleaner or in the manufacture of industrial strength cleaning products. Although potassium chloride is used for lethal injections, potassium hydroxide would also immediately induce cardiac arrest, particularly in a man with a serious heart condition.

"Whoever this guy is, he has access to industrial cleaning chemicals," she finished.

Her eyes met his and spoke of a hope she refused to surrender and he slammed the lid closed on his own anger to comfort her.

"We'll find him, Abs, we always do," he said quietly. "Remember when McGee was taken hostage in that women's prison or when Ziva was in Somalia? I seem to recall that I've gone missing a time or two as well…you see the point I'm making here, right?"

"That you guys can't stay outta trouble?"

"That's not _exactly_ where I was heading."

"I never thought that teaming up with you guys would, like, totally do my head in," she said.

"Well, I think that has more to do with the volume of your music but…wait…what did you say?"

"I said I never thought that teaming up with you guys would-"

"That's it!" he said as the elusive detail he'd been so desperate to remember, suddenly dropped into place.

"What's it?"

"Teaming up…she said teaming up!"

"Who said teaming up?"

Mouth opened, Tony stared at her before flashing his megawatt grin. A feeling of euphoria washed over him as he pulled Abby towards him for a bone-crushing hug and a kiss her on the cheek.

"Thanks, Abs, you've done it again."

Stunned by the unexpected response, she stood blinking in confusion as Tony walked quickly into her office, picked up her desk phone and made a call. She walked back to her workbench and picked up her stuffed toy hippo and gave him a hug.

"For a reaction like that, Bert, I'd do it again and again," she said before frowning deeply. "Now if I could just figure out what I did…"

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Back in the bullpen, Tony brought Ziva and McGee up to date with the autopsy and the toxicology findings.

"Someone needs to tell Mrs Phillips that her husband was murdered," Ziva said.

"I just spoke with her," Tony replied. "Do you remember when we met with her, she said that her husband and Gibbs lost touch for several years and before teaming up again briefly during Desert Storm."

"Yes, I remember," Ziva said, frowning as she wondered where the conversation was leading.

"Phillips was a supply administration and operations specialist and Gibbs was a sniper with special ops – why would they team up?" he asked.

"Perhaps she meant to say that they met up again," Ziva suggested. "There is nothing on either service record about them working together during Desert Storm."

"I asked Mrs Phillips," Tony continued. "She said they were definitely assigned together for a short time in Desert Storm but her husband had never told her the details because it was classified."

"Sounds like we need to get Vance to speak with the DOD and see if we can get read into the file," McGee said.

"Or…you can hack into the DOD data base," Tony said.

McGee looked up in alarm.

"Are you crazy? I can't do that?"

"Come on, Probe-ster, you can do it with one brain tied behind your back."

"I know I _can_ do it, I meant I _won't_ do it! You know what happened during the Preston case? I hacked into the ATF computer system and the director put a note in my file."

"And Gibbs talked him into to taking it out again," Tony countered. "If it makes you feel better, I'll tell the director that I did it."

McGee and Ziva exchanged stunned looks before they burst into raucous laughter.

"_That_ oughta fool him," McGee quipped.

"I'm not gonna order you, man," Tony said seriously. "You know what's at stake, here. You decide."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment before McGee began typing the commands that would hack into the DOD and hopefully retrieve the information they needed. Almost three hours later, McGee signalled to Tony and another campfire was convened.

Phillips was a supply administration and operations specialist assigned to a large US military camp outside Doha, Kuwait. While completing a routine check of supplies he noticed that a significant amount of ordnance was missing. Checking records against actual stock he found that non-existent outgoing shipments had been registered on the books but when he cross-checked with records taken by the guards at the gate, no trucks had been recorded coming or going. He reported his findings to his superiors.

Sergeant Clinton Adams and Lance Corporal James Keene were operations specialists suspected of falsifying records, stealing ordnance and selling it to the Iraqi Republican Guard via the black market. This coincided with unconfirmed reports of coalition troops and Kuwaiti civilians being killed by US ordinance.

Part of the US humanitarian duties in Operation Desert Shield and Desert Storm was to deliver food, fresh water and first aid supplies to neighbouring Kuwaiti towns that had been pillaged by the Iraqis. Adams and Keene coordinated and travelled on the military transports, using them as cover to smuggle the ordnance out of camp.

Knowing Gibbs was currently in-country and due to his background as an MP, he was temporarily assigned to the detail guarding the transports. His prime directive was to gather enough Intel to shut down the smuggling operation and those responsible. On next humanitarian run the supply truck ran over an improvised explosive device, triggering a chain reaction of the ordnance being smuggled. Two coalition soldiers, four Kuwaiti civilians and Corporal James Keene were killed.

Adams was arrested, court martialled and subsequently stood trial for aiding the enemy – Gibbs and Phillips testified at the trial. A maximum life term was later reduced to a twenty-year term in Leavenworth.

McGee wore a puzzled expression as he looked up from his computer monitor.

"Why was this classified?" he asked.

"The killing of allies and innocent civilians by US ordnance is not something the DOD would want publicised," Tony answered as Abby joined them in the bullpen. "Ziva, you got something on Adam's Leavenworth prison file?"

"At the time of his arrest, Clinton Adams was married with a five-year old son," Ziva said. "His dishonourable discharge meant there was no pay or no pension for the wife and child. His son, Joshua, was in and out of juvenile detention on drug charges. Six years ago, he was cooking heroin in his room – he injected the shot and knocked over a candle starting a house fire. He was rescued but suffered cardiac arrest and died. Adams' wife also died in the fire. When told of the loss of his family, Adams had a complete mental breakdown and spent the last years of his sentence in a maximum-security facility for the mentally ill. He was deemed fit for release six months ago. "

"McGee, do your thing! Get me a recent photo!" Tony ordered.

"Coming up on the plasma," McGee answered as the image of a man with thick glasses, pasty white skin, red curly hair and a bushy beard appeared.

"Oh my God," Abby whispered as her hand flew to her mouth. "Tony?"

"Check for an address, work, home, family – whatever you can get the clock's ticking!" Tony directed, unable to voice the placating words Abby needed to hear.

"I got it Tony, home and a work address," McGee said hurriedly scribbling the information on a sheet of paper and handing it to the acting team leader.

"Take Ziva, check out the home address," he said as they double-timed it to the elevator. "I'll take the work address."

As the elevator doors started to close, Tony answered Abby's silent plea with a determined nod. The agents felt the surge of adrenalin as they secured their weapons and readied themselves for the unknown. Tony pounded his fist furiously against the basement button, urging the elevator to go faster than its normal capability. When the doors finally opened he bolted at a dead run toward his assigned agency sedan, leaving McGee and Ziva jogging toward their own car.

"Call me when you get there" he yelled over his shoulder. "And watch your backs!"

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

_...'Suddenly the waters around them slowly swelled in broad circles; then quickly upheaved, as if sideways sliding from a submerged berg of ice, swiftly rising to the surface. A low rumbling sound was heard; a subterraneous hum; and then all held their breaths; as bedraggled with trailing ropes, and harpoons, and lances, a vast form shot lengthwise, but obliquely from the sea. Shrouded in a thin drooping veil of mist, it hovered for a moment in the rainbowed air; and then fell swamping back into the deep. Crushed thirty feet upwards, the waters flashed for an instant like heaps of fountains, then brokenly sank in a shower of flakes, leaving the circling surface creamed like new milk round the marble trunk of the whale...'._

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tony made good time to the Newbridge Chemical Company, parked in the visitor's parking area and loped into the office asking to see the manager. He cursed silently when told that Clinton Adams was a casual employer who had not worked at the factory for nearly one month. He was climbing back into his car planning to meet Ziva and McGee when the plant manager whistled loudly through his teeth and signalled for him to stop.

The company was closing its storage warehouse and moving its stock of chemicals onsite. The factory foreman had hired Adams as a full-time watchman until the move was completed.

"Do you know if Adams is still there?" Tony asked hopefully.

"My foreman spoke to him not more than forty minutes ago."

He gave Tony the address of the warehouse and stood back as the agent gunned the engine and sped from the premises.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

_..."There she blows!-there she blows! A hump like a snow-hill! It is Moby Dick!'..._

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Ziva and McGee stood open-mouthed in the centre of Adams' living room and turned in a slow circle as they looked around. Every square inch of wall was covered in vibrantly coloured posters of Abaddon – his large locust wings, scorpion tail and grotesque face. Banners proclaiming the destroying angel of the apocalypse and the king of the bottomless pit stood out brightly as did the many verses declaring that deceivers would forever burn in the fires of hell. Most chilling of all were the enlarged photos of Tom Phillips and Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The photos of both men appeared to have been taken over the past few weeks and in numerous locations. Adams had been planning this for a long time.

The agents startled at the sound of McGee's ring tone and then locked the door behind them and raced to the car to meet Tony at the warehouse. With Ziva behind the wheel negotiating the traffic like a Nascar driver, McGee called in another team to process the apartment and Ducky and Palmer to meet them at the warehouse.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The rancid smell of smoke reached him from the far end of the warehouse. Gibbs ignored the pain of his wrists and ankles and pulled with all his might on the chains that bound them. He could feel the warm trickle of his blood and knew that he'd rubbed his wrists raw in his efforts to get free.

Suddenly Adams appeared before him, wearing coveralls and safety glasses and a dust mask over his nose and mouth. He was carrying a large container of liquid marked toxic and highly flammable. Gibbs had heard Adams running around and pouring the chemicals all over the warehouse. He didn't need to be a genius to know that his time was running out.

"The devil and all the wicked...shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb: and the smoke of their torment ascendeth up forever and ever," Adams ranted, his eyes wide with madness.

"Adams, listen to me…" Gibbs rasped and then turned his face away as Adams doused him in liquid.

_"Ego non baptisote in nomine patris, sed in nomine diaboli!" _Adams screamed. "I do not baptise thee in the name of the father, but in the name of the devil. **..."**

The agent gritted his teeth against the painful sting of the chemical and hissed as it penetrated his eyes, nose and throat. He spat the substance from his mouth but the taste remained and caused him to gag repeatedly.

A loud explosion sounded closer than Gibbs cared to think about, instigating a more frantic attempt to free himself. He started to cough as the smoke and fumes began to fill his lungs and chase out the life-giving oxygen. He looked up through watery eyes to see Adams standing over him with a gun in one hand and a hastily fashioned flaming torch in the other.

"You killed my family!" he sobbed. "Thou shalt make them as a fiery oven in the time of thine anger: the Lord shall swallow them up in his wrath, and the fire shall devour them."

Gibbs' vision began to grey around the edges and as another explosion rocked the storage warehouse, he felt the intense heat and he knew the end was near.

"Repent!" Adams screamed. "Repent for the kingdom of heaven is at hand - Matthew 4:17."

Gibbs lifted his head defiantly and suppressing a choking cough he replied.

"Never apologise, it's a sign of weakness – Gibbs:Rule Number Six."

He met and held his captor's eyes, delivering a silent message of insolence and disdain as Adams stepped forward and swung the butt of his handgun at Gibbs' head.

The pain was swift and severe enough for the room to tilt on its axis before the agent's head lolled forward.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

…_"Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; __**from hell's heart**__ I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee. Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool! and since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale! Thus, I give up the spear!"…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N Your continuing support of this story has been amazing, thank you. Hope you'll join me for the next chapter when Gibbs is found but discovers that his rescue came at a very high cost. L.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.**

**A/N It has been remiss of me not to thank those reviewers who do not sign in or prefer to remain anonymous, some of whom have reviewed every chapter while others have defended my "writer's honour." :) With every good wish, L**

**From Hell's Heart**

**Chapter 8**

…'_So there is no earthly way of finding out precisely what the whale really looks like. And the only mode in which you can derive even a tolerable idea of his living contour, is by going a-whaling yourself; but by so doing, you run no small risk of being eternally stove and sunk by him.'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The agency sedan fishtailed wildly and Tony fought for control of the steering wheel as he sped towards the storage warehouse. Careening around the final corner his heart stopped as he saw smoke billowing from the front of the Newbridge Chemical Company situated at the far end of the street.

Snatching his cell from his pocket he accessed his speed dial and sighed with relief as McGee picked up immediately.

"The warehouse is on fire," Tony told him. "Call 911; get a Hazmat team down here, _now_!"

"On it!" McGee replied crisply. "Wait for us, Tony, don't go in there without back up."

"Where are you?"

"We're about twenty minutes out," he shouted over the sound of screeching tyres and blaring horns as Ziva ran another intersection. "Make that fifteen."

"Can't wait, I'm going in," he responded. "Gibbs is in there."

"You don't know that!"

"Yeah, McGee," Tony replied with conviction. "I do."

He snapped his cell closed and tossed onto the seat beside him before slamming his foot on the accelerator. The powerful engine thrust the car forward, ramming through the locked gates with a loud crash as Tony's body tensed with the fear that his boss may already be dead.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-****0**

Adams watched in demented pleasure as the ever-widening pool of spilled flammable liquid surrounded the man lying shackled on the ground. Not wishing to tempt fate, he moved well away from the spilled chemicals to stand in front of a stack of 44-gallon drums.

Struggling to remain conscious after the nauseating blow to his head, Gibbs eyed his captor warily. With his hands and feet bound by chains, there was little he could do to wrestle control of the situation. He tried the only option available to him – keep Adams talking and hope like hell that someone sees the smoke.

"You gonna shoot me?" he rasped, coughing harshly.

"Shooting you would be too quick," Adams hissed. "I want you to know the agony my wife felt when she burned to death in our home. I want you to die screaming for help that isn't going to come. Just like she screamed for me."

"I didn't kill your wife, Adams," Gibbs replied. "Or your boy."

"You did!" he bellowed, his face turning purple with rage. "You and Phillips! I was in Leavenworth when I should have been with them. They died because I wasn't there to protect them."

Gibbs felt a painful twinge in his gut. He understood, more than most, the depth of torment and despair that drives a man to avenge the death of his family.

"I know what you're feeling…the guilt, the rage, the emptiness," Gibbs said keeping his voice as calm as possible. "The nightmares won't end when you kill me. They get worse. Trust me, I know."

Adams stared sceptically for a moment before shaking his head as if to rid his mind of the warning.

"For the day of vengeance is in mine heart and the time of my redemption is come," he shouted.

Worn out by the pain and emotions coursing through him, Gibbs suppressed the urge to cough and watched in alarm as Adams moved to toss the flaming torch in his direction. Movement in his peripheral line of sight drew his attention as the outline of a man emerged from the smoky haze and a familiar voice rang out.

"NCIS! Freeze Adams, don't move!" Tony yelled as he stepped cautiously forward, his Sig held in the customary double-handed grip.

Adams shocked expression would have been comical had the situation not been so dire. His head swivelled from Gibbs to Tony, as he appeared to weigh his options.

"Don't try it," Tony warned, his face as implacable as Gibbs had ever seen it.

A nearby explosion rocked the building, taking Tony by surprise and spewing copious amounts of smoke and vapours into the air. The split-second distraction was all Adams needed. An inhuman roar erupted from his chest and his face contorted with fury as he raised his gun and fired twice. As Tony threw himself to the ground, he grunted loudly as two projectiles hit him high in the chest and ripped the breath out of him.

Time seemed to lose all meaning, trapping him between seconds as years of training took over and he returned fire with four quick rounds. He watched Adams twitch and jerk in a macabre dance as the rapid-fire bullets tore through him and his lifeless form collapsed to the ground.

He blanched in horror as he realised that two rounds had travelled through Adams' body and pierced the drums behind him. The liquid contents spilled in a rapidly spreading pool reaching the still burning torch and erupting in a fireball that engulfed the lifeless form.

The smell of burning flesh and the pungent, suffocating odor caused him to gag repeatedly. Tearing his gaze from the gruesome image he gasped involuntarily as pain flared in his chest. He slipped a tentative hand against his injured ribs and said a silent prayer that he'd taken the time to don his Kevlar vest. He struggled to his feet and moved quickly to Gibbs' side.

The former Marine was unresponsive. The right side of his face was streaked with blood from a nasty head wound and his right eye was swollen shut. Tony reached for the pulse point below Gibbs' jaw line and a light flutter beneath his questing fingers brought a sigh of relief.

His heart sunk as he saw the chains binding the lead agent's wrists and ankles. Straining mightily, Tony unsuccessfully pulled against the restraints, frustrated grunts escaping with the effort as he felt the heat of the fires approaching. Thoroughly exhausted by his struggle, he stilled, drawing in wheezing, labouring breaths as his lungs heaved with the strain of his emotions and forcibly suppressed panic.

Harsh coughing caught his attention and he turned to see Gibbs watching him, the reddened and bloodshot eyes met his and immediately struck him like a blow. He turned away quickly, refusing to acknowledge the resignation in their depths.

As the smoke grew thicker and the fires neared, the younger man searched desperately for something to break the chains. Gibbs listened to the small, sharp gasps as Tony struggled to breathe and he called his agent to his side.

"Tony," he said calmly. "Go."

"No!" came the definite reply.

"There's nothing you can do. Get out of here."

The internal struggle was plain to see as it played across the younger man's face and penetrated his usual mask of emotional detachment.

"I'm giving you an order, Special Agent DiNozzo!" Gibbs growled loudly.

"And I'm respectfully telling you to shut the hell up," Tony snarled in reply.

He closed his burning eyes and struggled for control. For a moment everything stood still, then time resumed its normal order and he knew what he had to do. He didn't have time to second-guess himself and he refused to look back as he turned and ran for the exit.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

…'_Is my journey's end coming? My legs feel faint; like his who has footed it all day. Feel thy heart,- beat it yet? Stir thyself, Starbuck!- stave it off- move, move!'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

He moved with a speed he didn't know he possessed, running full-tilt for the car he'd left in the front parking lot. Tearing open the trunk, he ripped off his Kevlar vest and snatched up a pair of bolt-cutters before running back to the rear of the building.

His heart was beating wildly and his legs kept threatening to give out on him. Every breath felt like it was scorching his lungs and the bitter taste of bile burned the back of his throat. He spat the taste from his mouth, silently cursing the blinding smoke and heat that stung his eyes causing tears to run continuously down his cheeks.

He returned to his boss' side and found that, this time, no amount of coaxing could rouse the unconscious Marine. He cut Gibbs free from the chains as the ground shook and nearby windows shattered and the warehouse erupted in another fiery explosion that knocked the agent off his feet. He was exhausted and light-headed, his throat raw and his stomach on the verge of rebelling. Pushing through the pain he struggled to his feet and, grabbing Gibbs under the arms, he dragged him clear of the building to safety.

Collapsing onto the ground beside the lead agent, the younger man fought to fill his lungs with precious oxygen, coughing so hard that he thought his chest was being torn apart. The sound of approaching fire engines was music to his ears, until a sudden thought had his heart thudding painfully within his ribcage – where was Franks?

"Boss! Boss!" Tony's attempts to raise the older man were punctuated by wheezes and wet, painful-sounding coughs. "Boss, where's Mike? Was he with you? Boss!"

He confirmed the unconscious man was breathing and placed him into the recovery position before struggling to his feet and running back into the inferno.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

…'S_o strongly and metaphysically did I conceive of my situation then, that while earnestly watching his motions, I seemed distinctly to perceive that my own individuality was now merged in a joint stock company of two; that my free will had received a mortal wound; and that another's mistake or misfortune might plunge innocent me into unmerited disaster and death'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

Ziva and McGee arrived to find the fire brigade had already set up a command centre and strategically positioned their trucks and equipment. Leaving their car they raced to the cordoned off area and ducked under the safety barrier.

"You can't be in here," A burly, white-haired fire chief told them pointedly while seemingly oblivious to the ID and badges being flashed at him. "The situation is completely unstable – I have a Hazmat team in there, let them do their jobs."

"There are federal agents in that building," McGee said, ignoring the warnings. "We need to find them."

The chief stepped in front of the young agents, halting their progress. It was clear he had no intention of allowing them to pass.

A huge explosion rocked the warehouse and the agents crouched low to avoid any flying debris.

"Once the situation has been stabilised and the fire is contained, we can let you in. My crew are the best, if there's anyone left to find in there, they'll find 'em."

"McGee," Ziva said, pointing toward Tony's abandoned vehicle.

They crossed the parking lot to the car and exchanged a fearful expression when they located Tony's Kevlar vest with two bullet holes in the chest plate. They moved back to the command centre as Ducky and Palmer arrived and they stood together looking despairingly at the inferno in front of them.

The fire chief's radio crackled to life.

"_Command this is Hazmat 11. We've got one body inside the left rear quadrant of the building and…stand by command, we've just located two more bodies outside the rear entry of the factory – stand by for status."_

The agents and ME's held their collective breath and after what seemed an interminable period, the radio crackled again.

"_Command, Hazmat 11 - they're alive! Repeat both men are alive – send Medic Unit to the rear entry, stat."_

Despite the shouted warnings of the fire chief, McGee and Ziva took off at a dead run.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The incessant wail of the ambulance siren pierced the dark comfort of his tranquillity dragging him closer to consciousness. His head pounded with an intensity that was mind numbing and his stomach felt raw and uneasy, ready to rebel at the slightest provocation. He silently compelled the nausea back to a less immediate threat.

The acrid smell of smoke burned his throat and lungs, causing him to cough and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut as a moan escaped from between tightly clenched teeth. As cognisance returned he became aware of a rocking motion that accentuated his headache and he lifted a hand feebly trying to dislodge the pressure over his nose and mouth. A warm hand captured his, squeezing lightly and moving it away from the oxygen mask. His chest was tight and he was having trouble taking deep breaths.

"You must remain calm, Jethro," a familiar voice sounded. "We'll have you at the hospital in just a few moments but we need to irrigate your eyes."

A gentle thumb prised his eyelids open seconds before a bright light flickered and pain exploded in his head. His eyes burned painfully and saline mixed with involuntary tears and caused tiny rivulets to flow freely over his cheeks and down his temples.

"Duck?" Gibbs rasped.

Through blurred vision he could make out the outline of two people beside him. One he recognised as his old friend and the other was an EMT. His mouth was suddenly dry and his heart pounded so fast, he could hardly take a full breath. He coughed harshly again barely able to catch his breath.

"Tony?" he asked anxiously, struggling weakly in an attempt to sit up.

"Jethro, please!" Ducky scolded mildly as he pushed his friend back down onto the gurney. "Anthony is in the vehicle following right behind us. You'll see him soon."

Relief overwhelmed him and with a soft sigh, Gibbs' eyes closed again and as oblivion gently reached for him, his world faded to black.

Ducky chanced a worried glance at the ambulance following behind. He hoped his friend would forgive his omission and prayed that Anthony's condition had stabilized.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

Ducky sat impatiently in dreary the waiting room of Bethesda Hospital. His attention was split between the closed doors of the emergency room and a fascinating article regarding the Tsohon-djapa tribe he'd found in a National Geographic magazine. He turned his attention from both as McGee, Ziva, Abby and Palmer arrived.

"How are they, Ducky?" Abby asked anxiously.

Ducky gestured for them all to take a seat and he explained what he knew of the senior agents' conditions.

"Jethro is suffering from a serious concussion, plus smoke and chemical inhalation that caused minor respiratory irritation of the nose and throat. He has deep abrasions to his wrists and ankles, presumably from some form of restraint and a rather nasty orbital ecchymosis," he smiled reassuring at their concerned faces. "One heck of a shiner our Anthony would call it. They are running some tests and treating him with oxygen and IV fluids."

"And Tony?" McGee asked.

"Anthony's condition is cause for more concern, I'm afraid," Ducky replied. "He is suffering from acute chemical pneumonitis."

"That is serious, yes?" Ziva asked.

"It causes swelling of the lung tissue and movement of fluid into the air spaces in the lung. It also restricts the ability to absorb oxygen and expel carbon dioxide," Palmer answered before adding with an apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry, Doctor, I interrupted."

"That's quite alright, Mister Palmer, your explanation was entirely correct," Ducky replied with a modicum of pride for his young asistant. "Unfortunately, the scar tissue already present in Anthony's lungs has added to his severe respiratory distress. The doctors are still trying to stabilise him."

Abby wiped angrily at her tears, yet couldn't stop them welling up again as McGee placed a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Doctor, has their sight been affected?" Palmer asked.

"Jethro and Anthony have both suffered minor chemical burns to the eyes but doctors are confident the burns did not penetrate the cornea. There will be some irritation and pain for several days but once that has passed their sight should be as it was before," Ducky replied. "Now, has there been any news of Mike Franks?"

"We found him," McGee replied.

"Oh my," Ducky said gravely. "Jethro will be devastated."

"No, Ducky, you don't understand. Mike is alive!" Abby told him. "Immigration picked up our BOLO as he tried to cross the border back into Mexico. I spoke with him."

"Oh," he said in surprise, his mouth retaining its "o" shape after the reply was expelled.

"Franks wasn't involved in any of this," McGee explained. "Seems some pencil pusher in the pentagon stopped paying his son's Marine pension to Leyla and Amira because of some snafu with red tape. Mike called Gibbs who arranged for them to meet with an old Marine buddy assigned to the DOD. Once the meeting was over, Franks decided to drive back to Mexico to show Leyla and Amira the sights."

"So the message Anthony heard on Jethro's answering machine – '_We did what had to be done…we got our justice…"_

"The problem was resolved and the pension reinstated," Ziva said.

"Then Anthony's gut feeling that Franks was involved was…"

"Habañeros," they all answered simultaneously.

"Ducky…can we see them?" Abby asked tentatively.

"Not for a good while yet, I'm afraid," Ducky replied looking at the concerned and weary young faces. "Time enough for all of you to go and eat a healthy meal. And I don't mean take out or plastic wrapped sandwiches! Go! Doctor's orders!"

He watched as his four young companions walked reluctantly toward the exit and smiled as Abby turned back to him.

"I'll call you the moment you can see them," he reassured her.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Gibbs could hear the voice, could hear his name being called but he was in no great hurry to open his eyes and come away from the warm, dark comfort he found himself in. The soft crackle of vinyl under a cotton pillowcase and the distinctive smell of disinfectant won the frown Ducky's words had only tempted.

The right side of his face was a mixed pallet of colours but the swelling in his right eye had reduced enough for him to open it slightly. His left eye was reddened and bloodshot and his skin looked like he had spent a little too much time in the sun.

"Welcome back, my friend," Ducky said warmly. "You're going to be just fine."

"Tony?" he croaked, barely recognising his own voice and feeling his chest tighten as Ducky looked away. "Duck?"

He tried to sit up but the room spun sickeningly and Ducky's hand on his shoulders guided him back to the mattress.

"Rest quietly," the ME said. "Anthony's doctor is with him."

Before he could glean more information from his friend, the door swung open and a young doctor and nurse entered the room. With a distracted nod for his patient, the doctor read the medical chart and gave instructions to the nurse.

"I want his pH levels tested and continue to irrigate his eyes and skin exposures with 0.9% saline until the pH returns to 7.4," he said. "His ocular pressures are normal so continue to treat his eyes with antibiotic ointment as a precaution. I want blood gases tested every two hours and schedule him for another CT scan of his head and chest as well as a lung function test."

With that out of the way, he turned to his patient with a genuine smile.

"Good to see you back with us," he grinned. "You probably don't remember but I'm Commander Russell. You've got yourself a nasty concussion so you'll be feeling pretty weak and nauseous and there will be some dizziness so I don't want you out of that bed unescorted. "

"What about Tony?" Gibbs asked, digging his knuckles into his forehead to counteract the pounding.

"Tony?" the commander replied.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was the young man brought in with Gibbs," Ducky explained as realisation flashed across the commander's face.

"We were unable to stabilise his condition for any length of time, so we asked for a consult from our head of pulmonary medicine. Captain Keenan is with him now," he replied.

"How bad is it?" Gibbs asked.

"As Tony's lungs had previously been compromised and contain scar tissue, he'll require intensive corticosteroid treatment to reduce the inflammation in his lungs and ease his breathing. He'll most likely be heavily sedated, placed on a ventilator for 48 hours."

Another nurse opened the door and gestured for the doctor to step out.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping into the corridor.

He returned quickly wearing a concerned frown.

"Apparently, Tony is refusing to be intubated until he sees you."

"Unhook me," Gibbs said, immediately throwing back the covers and swinging his legs off the bed.

The room tilted sharply to the left and Gibbs' knees buckled as dizziness and nausea overwhelmed him. The doctor and Ducky helped him back to bed where he laid waiting for the room to stop spinning.

"I'm sorry, I should have been clearer," the commander said. "He's asking for Doctor Mallard."

Ducky and Gibbs exchanged a disconcerted look.

"Jethro, I…" Ducky began.

"Go," Gibbs replied. "Go to him, Duck."

As he watched his friend quickly leave the room, he closed his eyes and hoped like hell that Tony's condition wasn't as serious as it sounded.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Ducky's thoughts were immediately transported to a blue isolation room several years ago as he stepped into the ICU cubicle and his gaze fell upon his young friend. Tony's neck veins were distended as he struggled to draw gasping breaths that segued into wheezing and left an alarming blue tinge on his lips. Despite the oxygen mask that misted sporadically as he fought to breathe, his respirations were shallow and noisy and turned into wet choking coughs. His skin was flushed and his long, dark lashes stood out starkly against reddened cheeks raw from the heat of the fire.

Panicked green eyes, abused by smoke and vapours, met Ducky's as the elderly ME moved forward to his bedside and took a strong, reassuring grip of his hand.

"I'm here, Anthony," he said calmly, placing his other hand on Tony's forehead and stroking his temple with his thumb. "Try to relax."

"Gibbs?" Tony mouthed.

"He's going to be just fine, as are you, my boy," he assured him.

Tony struggled to raise a hand and pushed feebly at the oxygen mask.

"I couldn't…couldn't find Mike," he said with a desolation that stabbed deeply into Ducky's heart. "Too much…too much smoke. Too hot."

"Mike wasn't there, Anthony, it was a misunderstanding. Mike is just fine."

Ducky saw some of the fear leave Tony's eyes and his head sag ever so slightly further into the pillow.

The specialist gave Ducky a nod to indicate that it was time.

"Close your eyes, my boy," Ducky said gently. "We'll see you soon, hmmm?"

As the medication was administered, Tony's eyes closed, the wheezing breaths slowly eased and the tight hold on his fingers loosened.

Ducky watched as the pillow was removed, Tony's head positioned and the intubation performed. He moved to the side as the nurses continued to irrigate Tony's eyes and applying an antibiotic ointment before placing bandages over both eyes.

He took a seat by the young man's side. Over the years, he had seen Gibbs and Tony's unlikely partnership grow to the point where these two men could communicate with a knowing look. And though their feelings were never taken for granted, they were expressed in a manner beyond the ineffectual ability of words.

To the casual observer, the succinct interchanges were routine responses devoid of any deeper meaning. But for those familiar with Gibbs and DiNozzo, an 'attaboy' touted undeniable pride for a job well done, while an 'on your six, Boss' spoke of an unshakable loyalty and respect.

The flaws of one were the strengths of the other and together they made a formidable team. It concerned Ducky greatly to see the fissure that had opened up between the two younger men. Although he was not usually one to meddle, he was not prepared to stand idly by and let misunderstandings and stubborn pride tear their relationship apart…even if he needed a cattle prod to do it.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Illumination from the overhead light bled through his closed eyelids as his head pounded in time with his pulse. He was hot and sweaty with fever and as he struggled to kick the twisted bedcovers off his legs, the soothing voice of a nurse and the cooling touch of her hand calmed him.

"The fever is the body's way of ridding itself of toxins," she said with a reassuring smile as she muted the lights and handed him a glass of water. "You're doing fine."

She replaced sweat soaked sheets for dry ones, leaving the blankets folded at the foot for when he needed them. At his request, she raised the bedhead and grimaced knowingly as he compelled the nausea back to a less immediate threat. She adjusted his nasal cannula, took a syringe from a nearby medicine tray and injected the contents into his IV.

"That should take the edge off the fever and settle your stomach," she said. "Try to get some rest."

He heard the door open again moment's later and cracked open an eye to find Ducky sitting in the chair beside his bed. The ME looked exhausted as he removed his glasses and rubbed tired eyes.

"Duck?"

"Oh, Jethro, I do hope I didn't wake you."

"Wasn't sleeping."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he responded as his lips quirked at the unintentional DiNozzo-ism.

"Good," Ducky said a little brusquely. "Because I think it's high time we discuss what is going on with you and Anthony."

"How is he?" Gibbs asked trying desperately to focus but still unable to fully banish the drowsiness that had cloaked him on waking.

"He is resting peacefully in the arms of Morpheus."

"He's where?"

"He's under sedation in the ICU," Ducky replied, seeing the frown form on Gibbs' face. "Let's remain focussed on the fact that Anthony is strong and - as we saw when he was afflicted with the pneumonic plague – one hell of a fighter."

"Said you wanted to talk about Tony?"

"Yes, yes, I do," Ducky said, suddenly averting his eyes and shifting around in his chair. Finally settled in a comfortable position, he folded his arms across his chest and cleared his throat. "That young man has been your partner for ten years Jethro – when are you going to learn to trust him?"

"I do trust him!"

"Really? Did you or did you not suspect that your friend Tom Phillips was murdered and that murder may in some way be connected to you?"

"The night I was supposed to have dinner with Tom, we caught a case," Gibbs said. "Tom mentioned in passing that he'd seen Adams outside his house. He laughed it off, thought he was mistaken."

He felt his chest tighten and he began to cough harshly until Ducky passed him a glass of water. He took a few sips, nodded his thanks and continued.

"Didn't think anymore about it until the day of Tom's funeral when I spotted the bastard myself."

"He was following you?" Ducky asked receiving a nod in reply. "And still it never crossed your mind to discuss this with Anthony? Do you have any idea of the hurt that boy feels when, after ten years, you still turn to Mike Franks instead of him?"

"Mike? DiNozzo thought I'd confided in Mike?"

"At the time, yes he did, but we now realise that it was the habañeros," Ducky replied oblivious to Gibbs' confused look. "Based on past…incidences…you surely can't blame the lad for believing that you and Mike had reunited for yet another of your not-quite-lawful crusades."

"Rough waters, Duck," Gibbs warned. "Don't think you wanna be going there."

"Yes, well, the fact remains that you suspected foul play and without a word to anyone you set off on your own and you shut Anthony out!"

"_I was trying to keep him safe, keep them all safe!"_ Gibbs yelled as another round of coughing ensued.

"That may be your intention, my friend, but I can tell you without doubt that it's not working. Have you forgotten that it was Anthony who repeatedly dived into freezing water to free you and young Madeleine from a submerged car? And now he's run into a burning building. Surely you realise that young man would move heaven and earth to track you down if he thought you were in trouble – they all would!"

"They had a case," Gibbs argued. "I thought they'd still be investigating the death of Lance Corporal Livingstone."

"Ah, then you taught him them too well, my friend," Ducky countered. "They wrapped that case up with the precision of a Swiss watch. You'd have been proud, Jethro, Anthony was like a dog with a bone until he got that confession and closed the case…not unlike someone else I know."

"That's their job, Duck. It's what they're trained to do," Gibbs replied, not entirely managing to banish the pride from his voice.

"Jethro, please…you have a team of highly skilled agents and have gone to great lengths to instil the value of loyalty and teamwork in each of them. No one understands that more than Anthony. Had he done what you did, had any of them done what you did, how would you have felt? If you're trying to keep them safe, might I suggest that you treat them as the agents you trained them to be and allow them to help you?"

They sat in contemplative silence for several moments before Ducky spoke again.

"You should know that they worked on their own time trying to find you. And, most importantly, when Anthony dragged you from that warehouse, he ran back in for Mike."

"Mike was never apart of this, Duck."

"Anthony thought he was and he ran back inside until the heat and the fumes drove him out," Ducky said shaking his head. "When the firemen found you both at the rear of the building, you were unconscious and Anthony was in severe respiratory distress."

Gibbs kicked off the sheet covering his legs and started to get up.

"Unhook me," he said.

"I most certainly will not," Ducky replied. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To see DiNozzo."

"Anthony is heavily sedated, Jethro, and you need to rest."

"Unhook me, Duck or I'll do it myself," Gibbs argued. "And find me some pants, I don't want my ass hanging out."

"I will find you a set of scrubs and take you to see Anthony on the condition that you remain hooked up to the oxygen and IV's _and_ you agree to a wheelchair," Ducky insisted.

"No wheelchair," Gibbs replied.

"No wheelchair, no pants. It's your choice, my friend," Ducky countered uncompromisingly and Gibbs knew he was beaten.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Ducky wheeled Gibbs into Tony's room as one ICU nurse checked the younger man's vitals while another changed the bandages covering his eyes and added more antiseptic ointment.

As he floated in the dreamless depths of a drug-induced sleep, the younger man's hair was plastered to his forehead, his face flushed with fever and heat burn while his chest rose and fell artificially as the ventilator assisted each breath.

"He's comfortable and isn't in any pain," the nurse informed Gibbs as if reading his concern. "The ventilator is not breathing for him it's helping him to breathe. He's actually taking most of the breaths himself which the machine allows him to do. We're watching him closely for any signs of pulmonary edema but he's doing fine."

Gibbs nodded his head and forced a small smile as the nurses left the room.

He couldn't remember the definitive moment when that damned protective pyre had been lit inside him but it burned as hot as a second sun whenever Tony was lost or hurt. Although he would deny it with his last breath, Gibbs was a natural protector. He watched the way Ducky handled the younger man, fussing with the bedcovers and gently wiping the sweat from his face and neck with a cool cloth and he realized he wasn't the only one whose protective instincts kicked in where Tony was concerned.

From early in their partnership he had realized that, for the first time since Shannon, there was someone in his life who accepted him the way he was. Sure, Ducky and Abby had been a part of his life longer than DiNozzo but neither had been subjected to the darker side of the former Marine's personality. DiNozzo accepted his moods, his "my way or the highway" attitude, the head-slaps and his bad temper. But, like very few others, Tony had balls enough to tell him when he'd over-stepped the mark. He had a feeling that they would soon be having a conversation along those lines.

Ducky watched the exhausted man sitting silently by Tony's bed. Sensing he might need some time alone with his agent, the ME rose to his feet and stretched the tension and stiffness from his back.

"Why don't I go and see if I can scare us up a nice strong cup of coffee, hmm?" he said. As he made for the door, he turned and spoke again. "Talk to him Jethro, let him know you're here."

Gibbs scrubbed his hands along his stubbly jaw and expelled a heavy breath, swallowing harshly against his burning, sore throat. He looked at his agent, realising it was the uncharacteristic stillness of the young man and the mechanical sound of the ventilator that filled him with fear. The sight added to memories he'd displaced to some nether region of his soul to be released later in the form of nightmares.

He leaned closer to Tony until his mouth was beside the younger man's ear and he whispered an order and a plea in one urgent word.

"Fight."

Death didn't scare Gibbs much but the death of one of his friends or one of his team scared the hell out of him. The former Marine knew how quickly a friend could be lost forever. As he willed his own strength into his agent, he wondered, not for the first time, if he'd communicated the depth of his feelings - even though they both knew and accepted that the words would never be voiced.

"I didn't go to Mike instead of you," he whispered, trying to swallow the emotion that threatened to choke him.

"What kind of a bonehead runs back into a burning building?" he asked, the pride thinly veiled by gruffness.

He closed his eyes, drew a fortifying breath and then shut a lid on all debilitating thoughts. He wasn't about to accept defeat – DiNozzo had beaten the pneumonic plague and he damn well better beat this!

That was the main thing... that was the only thing.

The lead agent leaned forward again, a tiny smile quirking his lips as he whispered another message to his injured agent.

"You need to lay off the habañeros."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

…'_For I believe that much of a man's character will be found betokened in his backbone. I would rather feel your spine than your skull, whoever you are. A thin joist of a spine never yet upheld a full and noble soul.'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

TRIVIA - I may be late to the party here but I recently learned that Starbuck's coffee was named after the first mate in Moby Dick. In my defence, there are only about 20 Starbucks stores in Australia. But all this time I thought the owners must have been fans of Battlestar Galactica! Doh! Hope you enjoyed that chapter – one more to go. Heartfelt thanks, L


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.**

**A/N Sorry for the delay. Big long chapter...just for a change. :) L**

**From Hell's Heart**

**Chapter 9**

"Doctor Mallard?" a soft voice called. "Doctor Mallard?"

The ICU nurse stepped back as Ducky startled awake, looking almost comical with his glasses sitting precariously on the end of his nose.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I must have nodded off," he mumbled.

"That's quite alright. I'm sorry to disturb you but there are some people here asking for you."

"Asking for me? Good Lord, is it morning already?"

"Almost zero seven hundred," the nurse told him. "Why don't you take a break, you've been here all night?"

Ducky turned quickly to his right, surprised that Gibbs was no longer there.

"Did Agent Gibbs return to his room?" he asked hopefully but knowing better.

"He's just been taken downstairs to the imaging department. Commander Russell ordered a new CT and chest x-rays," she explained and added with a grimace. "Agent Gibbs wasn't too happy about leaving."

"I can imagine," Ducky replied with a disapproving shake of his head. "Tell me, my dear, how is Anthony this morning?"

"His condition is still serious but there's been some improvement in the last few hours," the nurse said, stepping aside so that Ducky could see for himself. "It took a little while for the doctors to find the right combination of steroids and inhalants. I'll tell your visitors that you'll be right out."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Dawson," Ducky said.

Despite acquiring a comfortable armchair from the maternity ward, immobility had caused stiffness in the elderly ME's back and leg muscles and he flexed them as he walked the few steps to Tony's bedside.

Tony's eyes were still bandaged and the steady whooshing sound of the ventilator was synchronised with the rise and fall of his chest. He placed a gentle hand on the younger man's sternum, concerned by the heat and the cracking sensation he felt with each breath.

"You're doing just fine, my boy," he said gently. "It appears you have some visitors. Why don't I step outside for a moment so they can see you, hmm?"

He stepped outside the ICU cubicle and spoke briefly again to the nurse before entering the small waiting room across the hall where Abby, McGee, Ziva and Palmer were seated. Abby was immediately on her feet, chewing anxiously on her lower lip.

"Ducky?"

"Anthony had an restful night," Ducky told them. "His doctors are quite pleased with this progress and hopeful that they can remove the vent within the next twenty-four hours."

"We went by Gibbs' room and the nurse said he hasn't been there all night," McGee said. "We thought he'd be here."

"He's been taken to the imaging department for more tests," Ducky huffed out a laugh and rubbed his fingers over tired eyes. "He really is the most exasperating man I have ever met. I told him that I would sit with our young man but no! Jethro prefers to put his own health at risk and foolishly defy his doctors to sit by the boy's bedside all night. Anthony is sedated and on a ventilator...he won't know whether Gibbs was there or not!"

An awkward silence fell over them as Ducky completed his uncharacteristic rant.

"Ducky," Abby said softly. "Tony may not know that Gibbs was with him…but Gibbs will know."

The ME shook his head and smiled sadly.

"You're quite right, my dear," he replied. "I do apologise for my outburst, it would seem I am more fatigued than I thought."

"Can we see Tony?" Abby asked the weary medical examiner.

"Just for a few moments," Ducky said leading them to the glass wall of the ICU cubicle.

As her gaze fell upon her friend, Abby's fingers flew to her mouth but failed to capture the gasp that escaped. She was unnerved by the quiet stillness of a man she knew to be animated, robust and blessed with a vigorous, if somewhat quirky, zest for life.

"Oh my God," she whispered, reaching into her purse for a tissue and scrubbing indignantly at the tears that slipped from her eyes and smeared her make-up.

"Now, Abigail, don't let the equipment alarm you. Anthony is not in any pain and he is receiving medication to strengthen and clear his lungs," Ducky assured her. "Why don't you and Ziva go and sit with him for few moments and when you're finished we'll all go and have some breakfast. I don't know about you but I could use a nice cup of tea?"

Ducky, McGee and Palmer watched as Abby and Ziva walked either side of Tony's bed and, tentatively, they each held one of his lax hands as they spoke quietly to him.

"I know how Abby feels," McGee said quietly. "He's so still…very un-Tony."

"Don't worry about Tony," Palmer replied. "He's like the Wile E Coyote of NCIS. He gets knocked down but he bounces back as determined as ever."

McGee leaned closer to the glass and appeared to be studying the ceiling above Tony's bed.

"What are you doing?" Palmer asked.

"Waiting for the Acme anvil to drop," McGee quipped.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

Having completed his CT and x-rays, Gibbs insisted on a detour to the ICU to check his agent's condition. Despite being buoyed by the fact that Tony was doing much better, the sight of his agent unconscious and breathing with the assistance of a ventilator sickened him and brought back too many memories that he had unsuccessfully tried to bury in the recesses of his mind. After considerable debate he was assisted back to his room with renewed orders to get at least three hours rest before making his way back to the ICU.

His head pounded mercilessly with every movement as he reluctantly climbed onto his hospital bed. Despite copious amounts of irrigation and ointment, his eyes still stung from the effects of the smoke and fumes and his right eye and cheekbone wore an array of spectacular colours. He felt his chest tighten and he began coughing, his lungs burning from the effort. But somehow, the telltale sound of approaching platform boots and the promise of unconditional love brought a small smile to his lips.

The clomping sound grew louder then stopped suddenly beside his bed and he opened his eyes to the worried face of his forensic scientist.

"Abs?"

She studied him, her eyes quickly gazing up and down his body looking for undisclosed injuries. If he'd been in a bar, he'd have thought he was about to get lucky.

"Abs? You okay?"

"I've been so worried," she said finally as she sat of the edge of his bed and pulled him into a hug that morphed into some kind of strange gothic sleeper hold. "Promise me, Gibbs, promise me you will never, _ever_, do anything like that again!"

He was spared from making that promise by the arrival of McGee and Ziva.

"I swear, Abby, if ever there was an Olympic games for all women wearing heels of six inches or more, you'd be a certain medal contender," McGee said.

"Good morning, Gibbs," Ziva said brightly, placing a coffee and a toasted bagel on the tray table at the foot of the bed. "We thought you might like some breakfast."

"You thought right," Gibbs replied.

"How are you feeling, Boss?" McGee asked.

"Ready to get out of here," he answered reaching for the coffee but feeling his stomach roll as the scent of the melted cheese bagel reached him.

"Ducky said the doctors have you in for at least one more night," McGee said.

"We'll see," he replied. "You seen DiNozzo?"

Abby's lips formed a thin straight line and she nodded her head.

"He'll be fine, Abs," Gibbs said.

"According to Ducky, the doctors may take Tony off the ventilator this afternoon," Ziva added hopefully.

"Anything new on Adams?"

"Ziva and I went back to his apartment. Every wall had some kind of creepy photographic montage of you and Tom Phillips. Looks like he'd been planning this for a long time."

"Adams obviously blamed you and Tom Phillips for the death of his wife and son," Ziva continued. "In his mind, you were the reason that he was in jail and not with his family when they died. He even planned for you to die in similar ways."

"Injecting a substance that induced heart failure, is how his son died and how he killed Tom Phillips. His wife burned to death and, well, that's what he was planning for you," McGee finished.

"Ya think?"

'_Burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe. Just as he did to me, so I am going to do to him. I shall repay to each one according to his acting,' _Gibbs recalled the words Adams recited over and over.

"We should return to the office and finish the paperwork," Ziva said. "You will call if you need anything, yes?"

"Hey," Gibbs called as McGee and Ziva turned back. "Good job, both of you."

The agents smiled at the rare acknowledgement and continued toward the elevator.

"You know Gibbs, from an artistic point of view that is one wicked black eye! I could take a photo and hang it in my gallery between my image of a shotgun-shattered backbone and my ice pick to the cerebellum." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Gotta go! Get some rest. I'll be back with my camera."

As she hurried to join McGee and Ziva, he closed his eyes as the sound of platform boots faded into the distance and he fell into a healing sleep.

Several hours later he was startled from his slumber by a man's voice and a hand on his forearm. Momentarily disoriented and acting on reflex he grabbed the assailant's wrist and executed a perfect thumb lock.

"_Agent Gibbs_," the man groaned between tightly clenched teeth. _"It's me, Jimmy Palmer!"_

"Palmer! What the hell?" Gibbs replied, releasing Palmer from his grip before noticing the wheelchair.

"Doctor Mallard asked me to come and get you. The doctors are with Tony and he said for me to tell you that it's good news."

Gibbs swung his feet from the bed, ignoring the slight vertigo and started for the door.

"Um…wait! Agent Gibbs!" Palmer called as he hastily positioned himself between Gibbs and the door. "Doctor Mallard said to tell you…um…these are his words not mine…that you are to sit your posterior in this wheelchair, or else."

"Or else, what?"

"See…he didn't exactly tell me that part," Palmer said laughing nervously.

"You think you can stop me, Palmer?"

"Not on my best day," Palmer said with certainty.

"Good answer," Gibbs replied as he strode for the ICU ward with Palmer and the empty wheelchair falling into step behind him.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Gibbs arrived at the ICU ward, Palmer on his heels still pushing the empty wheelchair and looking flustered.

Ducky's exasperated look went from Gibbs to his young assistant.

"Mister Palmer, didn't I tell you…"

"I…I tried, Doctor Mallard, really. I mean…"

"Not his fault, Duck," Gibbs cut in, his brow furrowing at the activity surrounding Tony's bed. "What's going on?"

"It's good news, Jethro," Ducky reported. "Anthony's doctor is very pleased with his progress. They've removed the bandages from his eyes and they're going to reduce the sedative."

"What about the vent?"

"They'll keep that attached for a few more hours to ensure that his respiratory system can cope without the aid of the machine."

Captain Keenan completed writing his orders on Tony's medical chart and turned to leave the cubicle stopping beside Gibbs and Ducky.

"Agent DiNozzo's respiratory rate is almost back to normal and his secretions are clearing. I want to repeat his bronchoscopy later this afternoon to check the swelling in his airways," the captain told them. "His eyes will be swollen and sore for a few days but his vision should not be affected. I assume that Doctor Mallard told you that I've reduced the sedative?"

Gibbs nodded and then asked. "When can we talk to him?"

"You can try to wake him now if you'd like but just for a minute. I prefer to test my patients responsiveness when they've been sedated for as long as Tony has," the captain said. "Don't expect much. It will take a while for the sedative to work its way out of his system. See if you can get him to open his eyes; talk to him, let him know you're there. If he continues to improve at this rate, we'll start to wean him off the machine, in the hope of removing the tube later this afternoon. He's a strong young man but with his track record of serious respiratory problems, I'd make sure he stays away from burning buildings in the future."

"Count on it," Gibbs said, shaking the captain's hand and feeling the relief immediately surge through his body.

Gibbs and Ducky moved into the cubicle and stood either side of Tony's bed. Exchanging a hopeful glance they leaned forward while Ducky quietly called his name. The increasing beat of the heart monitor was the first indication that Tony was waking up and starting to fight the sedation.

Consciousness was returning incrementally and Tony attempted to swallow against his burning, sore throat. He could hear his name being called and frowned at the voices trying to lure him from the comfortable, warm, darkness.

Gibbs repeated Tony's name and was rewarded with the rise of Tony's eyebrows, but nothing more.

"Hey, DiNozzo, you awake?"

Tony tried to swallow then found he couldn't, something was choking him. Fearful eyes sprung opened and he made a frantic grab at the ventilator. Hands caught his before he could disconnect the tube and then stronger hands held his arms down by his sides.

"Anthony, there's a tube in your throat to help you breathe," Ducky said gently. "I know it feels like you're choking but just relax and try not to think about breathing. You're doing fine, dear boy, just relax."

Despite Ducky's words, Tony eyes darted from side to side as he struggled to bring them into focus. They searched the area around his bed for the person that instinct and experience told him would be keeping vigil nearby. Finally, green eyes settled on the former Marine at his bedside and in a rare unsettling moment, Gibbs couldn't read the younger man's face. There was plenty of expression but he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.

Tony's glassy and unfocussed eyes blinked several times in an attempt to clear his vision. His face hardened with a fury that impaled the lead agent and he angrily shrugged Gibbs' hand from arm. Gibbs was confused by his reaction but Tony's heavy lids drifted shut and he was gone again.

"Don't be too concerned by that reaction, Jethro," Ducky said. "He was disoriented and confused, he may not even have recognised us. I'm sure it was all quite innocent."

Gibbs nodded his silent agreement but he'd seen that look from Tony before – he just never expected to see it directed at him. As he watched his senior field agent surrender to more drug-induced sleep Gibbs sighed deeply, ruthlessly forbidding the wealth of emotion to settle over him.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

…'_And had you watched Ahab's face that night, you would have thought that in him two different things were warring'..._

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

It was several more hours before Captain Keenan removed the tube from Tony's throat and switched off the ventilator. Gibbs returned to the ICU cubicle and leaned against the doorframe; he closed his eyes, shutting out his pounding headache and trying not to think about the intense emotion he'd seen in that single glance from Tony - he didn't want to contemplate the thoughts that lurked behind it. Maybe Ducky was right, maybe Tony was disoriented and confused…Gibbs' gut told him otherwise.

Abby sidled up to him quietly, wrapping her arms around his waist and giving him a tiny squeeze. As she rested her head on his shoulder, he relished the feeling of her love and concern and placed his arm around her shoulders.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

He nodded without taking his eyes off his agent.

"Why aren't you in there with him?" she asked quietly. "What if he wakes up?"

"Gotta feeling I'm the last person he wants to see right now."

"Did Tony tell you that?"

"Not in words."

"He's angry, Gibbs, angry and confused. But there's no one on this earth he respects more than you…you know that, right? Tony DiNozzo will always be your loyal St Bernard – even if, right now, he wants to, like, tear your washing off the line, dig up your new petunias and pee on your carpet."

"Abs…"

Abby placed her fingers on his lips to prevent him voicing his argument.

"No, Gibbs," she said sombrely. "When he wakes up, whether he's mad at you or not, he will totally expect you to be sitting right in that armchair beside the bed. If you're not there, he'll feel a whole lot worse…and so will you. So, Mister, get your tush into that chair where you belong, that's an order."

She kissed him on the cheek, handed him a coffee and gave him the gentle nudge he needed to step into the cubicle and sit beside the bed. He watched his agent sleep, his face was still flushed with fever and the dark smudges under both swollen reddened eyes contrasted starkly. Despite the awful wheezing sound, Gibbs was grateful beyond words for the steady rise and fall of the younger man's chest. He let the sounds lull him into a light sleep, his exhaustion overshadowing the stresses and strains of his own body as he sat in the armchair and waited for the storm he knew was coming.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The smell of cold coffee invaded his nostrils, making him a little nauseated. A chair creaked as someone shifted their weight - Gibbs. He thought about lying still and feigning sleep but knew that the former Marine had probably already noticed the subtle change in his breathing pattern.

A quick gasp of air caught in his throat and triggered the pressure building in his chest. Tony coughed harshly and as Gibbs rose to his feet to assist, the duty nurse was quickly through the door and by the younger man's side, coaxing him through and rubbing calming circles on his back. His respirations stuttered erratically before settling back into the rhythm of rapid, shallow puffs. She adjusted his nasal cannula and spooned some ice chips into his mouth, the cold slivers bringing welcome relief to his burning throat. She waited until his breathing returned to normal before she fussed with his blankets, smiled reassuringly at Gibbs and returned to the nurses' station.

Tony stared at the ceiling, gathering his thoughts. The silence that was once so easy between them was now crackling with things unsaid. Finally, the younger man's eyes swung Gibbs' way and he stared into their depths, disturbed to see no trace of his easy-going, eager to please agent. Instead, he saw anger, frustration and a deep and raw pain and his gut twisted as he realised that this moment had been building for far too long.

"DiNozzo…talk to me."

"Oh…now you wanna talk?" Tony huffed a humourless laugh. "I've been trying to get you to talk to me for over a week and now you want _me_ to talk to _you._"

His voice sounded hoarse and raw and he set his jaw stubbornly as he shot a look of undisguised anger in the lead agent's direction.

"We're here now," Gibbs replied.

"No thanks to you," Tony snapped back. "No, wait, maybe it _is_ thanks to you."

"I told you to get the hell out of that warehouse," Gibbs said more harshly than he intended.

"You're pissed at me?" Tony asked incredulously, immediately breaking into a round of coughing so harsh and so deep that it took several moments to get his breath back. Exhausted by the exertion, he swayed precariously almost toppling from the bed and Gibbs placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. Tony recoiled at the touch.

"Don't," he said, calm on the outside, but putting a warning into that single word.

Gibbs backed away with his hands held up in supplication

An awkward silence enveloped them again before Tony continued softly.

"When are you gonna start to trust me?"

"I do trust you."

Tony stifled a snort of disgust and met the older man's gaze.

"No you don't…it's been ten years Gibbs and you still don't treat me like a partner."

"Not true."

"Isn't it?" he argued. "When a case really gets to me or I get in over my head I come to you and we work it out. When you're the one in trouble you shut me out and you turn to Franks."

"I didn't go to Franks!"

"Maybe not this time but we both know you have in the past. You can't have it both ways, Gibbs. You expect total honesty; hell, you _demand _it. I've been more open and honest with you than anyone else in my life. You don't think that should work both ways?"

"I wasn't shutting you out. If nothing else gets through that thick skull of yours, trust me on that."

"Trust you? _Trust you?_ I have _always_ trusted you, you son-of-a-bitch. _Always!_ There hasn't been a moment since we met when I haven't put my trust in you."

"LaGrenouille?"

Tony's mouth hung open and he blinked his reddened eyes several times.

"I was under orders not to tell anyone…_anyone!" _he defended. "And, if memory serves, you'd quit the agency before I got that assignment."

"I came back."

"_And I was still under orders!" _Tony felt his chest tighten and took a moment to calm himself. "There were so many times I wanted to tell you…but I couldn't. I'd have thought if anyone would understand about following orders, it would be a Marine."

Unaccustomed to being the target of those resentful green eyes, Gibbs straightened in his chair but Tony's fierce regard never wavered.

"You say you don't shut me out? Maybe you've forgotten when I dragged your dead body from a submerged car or Ziva and I getting our skulls dented during the Domino case all because you shut us out, set off on your own or withheld information…wait a minute, aren't you the one whose past actions with Pedro Hernandez meant that the whole team including Abby, Ducky and the damn director concealed a capital offence?"

"_I never asked anyone of you to do that!"_ Gibbs shouted.

"_You didn't have to ask!"_ Tony yelled back_. "Don't you get that? You didn't have to!"_

Tony's breath caught again and he barked out a string of harsh, wet coughs until black spots danced before his eyes. Hacking and choking, his chest and ribs contracted painfully as he gasped frantically for breath but no matter how much air he drew in, it wasn't enough. Gibbs recognised the burgeoning panic on his agent's face and called for assistance, supporting his agent and muttering inanities until help arrived. Within moments the cubicle was swarming with medical personnel and Gibbs was asked to step outside.

After what seemed an interminable amount of time, Captain Keenan left his patient's side and turned to see Gibbs still waiting in the corridor.

"How is he?" Gibbs asked.

"He'll be fine," Keenan said. "We've started him on a nebuliser, he'll be on that for a few hours and I'll order one for him to take home."

"He's got one," Gibbs said. "Not his first rodeo."

"Of course."

"Can I see him?"

The captain opened his mouth to deny Gibbs' request but caught a glimpse of the depth of the lead agent's concern and nodded his head.

"Just for a moment," he said against his better judgement. "But don't disturb him - both of you need to rest."

Gibbs nodded and re-entered the cubicle. Standing at Tony's bedside, he winced as he listened to the painful wheezing gasps as the younger man struggled to breathe. Tony's eyes were closed, thick eyelashes dark against pale cheeks, and just as he thought his agent had drifted off to sleep, green eyes opened suddenly and sought him out. He lifted his hand toward the plastic mask covering his nose and mouth but Gibbs captured his wrist and shook his head.

"Leave it," he said quietly.

Tony remained silent, though his eyes were speaking volumes as regret and concern warred for dominance. He nodded at Gibbs, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

"Sleep," Gibbs said, placing his hand on the younger man's head. "We'll talk later."

Without shifting his gaze from the former Marine, Tony's heavy eyelids blinked slowly until they remained closed and his breathing grew less noisy with each steady breath.

Sleep removed the fine lines of worry and pain from Tony's face making him appear much younger and reminding him of the intuitive young detective he'd taken under his wing many years before. It was hard for Gibbs to accept that Tony was no longer that young man who had so little stability and reassurance in his life. It was harder still to contemplate the thought that if he didn't re-evaluate their working relationship, one way or another, he could lose Tony forever.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Gibbs returned to his room but found sleep elusive. How long had this been brewing? How long had he not been looking, not been seeing? For someone who prided himself as a good leader with an uncanny ability to read his people, had he been deliberately blind to a truth that had been staring him right in the face?

Over the years there'd been more than a few situations in which Gibbs had reacted without thinking and then treated Tony as if he had no right to question decisions that were later proven so terribly wrong. There was no doubt that he'd wished things had gone differently in each of the cases Tony mentioned.

In attempting to help Maddie Tyler he'd almost killed them both; in attempting to clear the name of NCIS Agent Brent Langer and find the mole, he had withheld information and Tony and Ziva had been injured. And when the Reynosa Cartel sought revenge for the death of their father, Pedro Hernandez, he had unintentionally placed his own father in jeopardy. It was only due to the fact that his team, risked their own careers by concealing evidence of a capital crime, that he was not facing charges right now. And now he and Tony were recovering in hospital after yet another of his solo crusades. Not for one minute did he regret his actions in these situations – he did, however, regret that his family and his team had been caught up in them.

Gibbs felt a sharp pang of culpability at the truth of Tony's words but he knew guilt was a useless game, one he had no desire to lose himself in. He'd always thought of DiNozzo as his own man. A man who would not follow him blindly without the total confidence and certainty that he was being led where he wanted or needed to go. He'd learned that a long time ago when DiNozzo ended his police career rather than associating with a dirty cop. The truth of the matter was that DiNozzo, hell, his entire team would do whatever they had to and would risk everything for him - and that was a thought that both humbled and terrified him.

As a general rule, Gibbs was not known as a man who gave or sought absolution – it was his way or the highway. But in this case, he knew that he and Tony needed a resolution before one or both of them ended up dead.

As he climbed into his bed he realised that never had the gulf between he and Tony been so vast or the usually unshakeable bridge of their friendship been so vulnerable. Gibbs made a promise to reach across the divide and he hoped that the younger man was willing to meet him at least part of the way. As sleep eventually came for him, he hoped to find the words that he had never before needed with his senior field agent.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

…'_A healing came, to me, at last. And all that gloom, obsession, temper, rage, depression softened with the years and easy sleep without the pain dulled, at last, life's sharp and ragged edges. And my style could lighten and take an easier road without that heat and load'…_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tony woke the next morning to find the ventilator relocated to the corner of the room and the nebuliser on stand-by. The duty nurse advised him that he would most likely be moved to a private room later in the day. He managed a light breakfast and a short assisted walk before breathlessness and exhaustion claimed him and he crawled back into the bed.

His eyes fixed on some indiscriminate point as he recalled the previous day's argument with Gibbs. Since he was a small boy he'd learned to hide his true feelings behind a carefree façade. To tightened his grip on his protective shield and endure whatever life threw at him. What was it about Gibbs that could rip that shield asunder and expose what so few others ever saw?

There had been other mentors in Tony's life; football and basketball coaches, instructors at the police academy; people who had taken a keen interest in him for a short time and then moved on with their lives. Gibbs was the first person who saw his potential - not just as an athlete or a law enforcement officer but also as a person - and he pushed him hard to make sure he met the strict criteria. While many complained about the lead agent's hard-assed attitude and work ethic, Tony revelled in it and enjoyed the challenge of seeing how far he could push the older man's buttons before being shut down with a menacing glare or a glancing head slap.

The former Marine had cured him of his flight instinct, made him want to stay in one place, in one job, for longer than two years. He became someone Tony could trust with his life. In times of physical and emotional hardship, he accepted advice; comfort and assistance from Gibbs as he would from no other person and he drew on the former Marine's strength in ways both conscious and instinctive.

As a former Marine sniper, Gibbs had been specially trained to work alone; tracking, reconnoitring and executing his targets. Although, for the main part he lived up to his well-earned reputation as NCIS' finest, from time to time something triggered inside him like a preconditioned response and Gibbs set off without his team. Tony knew it was an inherent part of the lead agent's personality – it ran through his veins and was written into his DNA - to change it would be to change the man he respected more than any other.

He didn't really blame Gibbs for what happened nor did he really believe that Gibbs didn't trust him but there had to be a way to convince the man to accept his help and the help of his team - any one of whom would run through a brick wall for him.

Deep down, he knew they would never be equals…he didn't want that. He would always be Gibbs' right hand man, surrogate son or pesky kid brother no matter what. But on the work front, he had seventeen years law enforcement experience behind him, ten of those under Gibbs' leadership. The strength of their relationship, the depth of their friendship and their success as partners, was made of the enigmatic, undefinable element that only fate could create…and Tony was determined to do all he could to protect it.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"You awake?"

Tony opened bleary eyes to find Gibbs sitting in the armchair and reading the newspaper.

"M'yeah," Tony replied around a jaw-breaking yawn that morphed into a harsh cough. He placed one hand on his chest for support before accepting a glass of water from the older man.

"Thanks," he rasped before noticing the older man was dressed in street clothes. "You going home?"

"After we talk."

Neither man moved or spoke. The air between them was not so much tense as uneasy. They eyed each other uncertainly, neither one knowing exactly what came next.

They were usually so good at this; communicating without words, offering unwavering support and trust to one another with a look that spoke volumes. They'd come to know each other so well over the past 10 years...so why was this so hard?

Uncomfortable discussing his feelings, Tony inevitably reverted to humour.

"Listen, Boss…I shouldn't have blown-up like I did yesterday…you know me and medication, right?"

"Seemed like more than medication, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "You telling me you didn't mean what you said?"

Tony closed his eyes and released a shuddering breath.

"I know you trust me," he replied the sentences fractured, as he tried to control his breathing. "It's just…"

"Let's have it."

"You'd take a bullet for your friends, Boss - I know it, McGee knows it, hell everybody knows it…is it so hard for you to believe that I'd do it for you?"

"No…" Gibbs said, his eyes softening for an instant. "No…it's not."

"Did you ever once stop to think what would happen to this team if you got killed?"

"You'd take the lead, just like you did a few years back…like you did this week."

"Come on, Boss, we both know that didn't work. This is your team, not mine. I worked my ass off to keep the team together when you were in Mexico and they tried to adapt. But they made it pretty clear that they wanted you, not me."

"Tony…"

"Hey, I'm not complaining, I wanted you back, too. I'm just saying…if something ever happened to you, nothing and no-one would hold this team together."

"I could say the same," Gibbs replied.

"Whether you shut me out because you think you're protecting me or whether it's that damned Captain Ahab complex, I'm a federal agent Gibbs, and a damn good one. Sometimes no matter how careful we are, people get hurt in the line. It happens…and not just to me."

Gibbs allowed a tiny grin to tug the corner of his mouth.

"Mostly to you."

A small smile snuck out before Tony could reel it in.

"Okay, I'll concede that point. What I'm saying is…I don't want your protection, Boss, I want your trust. I've earned it. Whatever else we are – we're partners, and if someone's coming after you, they're coming after us."

Gibbs felt his chest fill with pride and though he rarely, if ever, gave voice to his emotions, Tony heard the unspoken sentiment loud and clear as the former Marine saw his agent in a new light - not only as a subordinate; not only as a son or a bratty younger brother but also as an equal, a partner.

"Besides, every time you make me track you down it doesn't end well for me."

A tickle at the back of his throat and triggered the pressure building in his chest and Tony coughed so hard that he thought his chest was being torn apart. On his feet in an instant, Gibbs reached for the nebuliser. After checking that it had already been prepared for use, he switched it on and placed the mask over Tony's nose and mouth as the duty nurse arrived.

"I've got this," Gibbs told her, moving Tony into a sitting position and softly coaching his attempts to slow his breathing from the rapid, shallow gasps. The nurse looked to Tony for confirmation and smiled as he gave her a shaky 'thumbs up' signal. As the coughing subsided, Tony leaned back against the pillows, waiting for the tightness in his chest to ease. He shifted the mask to one side.

"You know… Boss…"

Gibbs moved the mask back into place.

"Shut up and breathe," he said, the gruff words unable to hide his concern.

As Tony's breathing returned to a normal rate they waited in an easy stillness. They were good at sharing stillness, always had been. Tony nodded to Gibbs who took the mask and shut off the nebuliser while the younger man made a second attempt at his previous observation.

"You know, Boss, on the black eye scale from one to ten, you got yourself a fifteen! But you gotta watch out for Abby. Last time I had a shiner like that, she followed me around with a camera for a week!"

Gibbs reached out his hand and Tony's grin fled, replaced by an anticipatory grimace as he waited for the head-slap that never arrived. Gibbs cupped a hand around the back of Tony's neck and gave a gentle squeeze. His unsaid words spoke volumes and both men silently acknowledged a mutual respect and affection that rarely found its voice but was a constant in both of their lives.

There were no promises, no reassurances and no platitudes – just the thought that their partnership had reached a new level, one of renewed trust and a more equal standing.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

…'_The drama's done. Why then here does any one step forth? — Because one did survive __the wreck'…._

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N I hope you enjoyed the final chapter of From Hell's Heart. Special thanks to my amazing "co-writer" the literary genius, Herman Melville - there's a reason Moby Dick is a classic. Thank you all for your very kind reviews and encouragement, also to those of you who just read quietly along in the background. I hope you enjoyed this story. With every good wish, Laine.**


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